


Lamb to the slaughter

by Phantom_Apple



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aborted Undertale Genocide Run, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, chara is not inherently evil, emotional detachment, not plot accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 117,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom_Apple/pseuds/Phantom_Apple
Summary: It wasn't fair, it wasn't—it wasn't fair. Frisk jumped to escape. Not to become a hero, a savior, some kind of martyr for an entire species they'd grown up hearing horror stories about; that was the opposite of what they wanted.Frisk disappointed everyone after all. Why would this be any different?ORWhere the weight of the world rests on the shoulders of an emotionally damaged ten year old who doesn't know how to cope with the responsibility./Not a faithful retelling of Undertale.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm totally not starting a new story while ignoring the 5 others I have going. haha not at all :)
> 
> All the main UT characters will be in this, but I'd prefer not to go tagging everyone and their mother before they even show up in the story. I'm tagging this as I go, so not everything triggering is in the tags at the moment. But for anyone who might be triggered/have issues reading about such issues, future chapters will involve: self-harm, suicide attempts, eating disorders, mental illness, implied/referenced sexual assault, and of course child abuse.

_I am the violence_

_I am the sickness_

_Won't accept your silence, beg me for forgiveness_

_-_

There had always been something wrong with them.

_Look how small they are. Does their mother ever feed them?—They never talk, are they mute?—What’s wrong with their eyes—_

_What’s wrong with their eyes?_

Frisk had come to accept the comments and whispers people spoke when they thought they couldn’t hear. They knew better than to respond. Playing pretend was easier than actually existing; a child born out of wedlock to a corrupt cop and an alcoholic mother was better off silent. Never seen, never heard, never acknowledged.

_What’s wrong with their eyes?_

It was that line, in particular, that fascinated them. The mirror reflected back what had always been there; a dull brown, devoid and stripped of emotion, because there was no reason to feel when no one was around to care. Their mother would curse at them, call them a demon spawn—curse their empty eyes and dull words. Their father would threaten them; but although he’d followed through plenty of times, Frisk had learned it was easier to discard those feelings and emotions before they even had a chance to surface.

They weren’t naive; anything but. Though their eyes were lifeless and their expression void of any recognizable expression, they could hear. They heard what the adults whispered and what their children repeated behind their back. They ignored their teacher’s attempts to coax them into some form of normal interaction, feeling only guilt at how they’d somehow managed to waste someone’s time when they’d learned to become nothing.

Frisk wasn’t naive, and Frisk wasn't stupid. So when an older boy from the nearby middle school told them that there was a secret hidden in the depths of Mount Ebott, they knew it was a lie. All children had grown up with tales of the monsters lying in wait. How children climbed the mountain and never returned; how they’d been spirited away by the evil that resided right beneath their feet. Frisk knew there was no secret and they knew that climbing the mountain in the dead of winter, with inches of snow built up on the roads from heavy snowfall, was a death wish in the making.

But when Frisk returned home late from school one day to their parents screaming, to an empty bottle shattering beside their face, to the purple and red face of their father howling about how disturbed they were and the damage that their birth had done to their family, they turned around and left. There were bruises beneath their too-thin jacket and cuts on their fingers from the constant chore of cleaning up the glass scattered throughout the house, and a quickly forming welt right across their cheek. Proof of their failed and mistaken existence in the world.

Frisk marched up the mountain, ignoring the burn of the snow and the cold, cutting wind across their face and the branches that snapped right back into them. It was too dark to see properly and by the time they’d reached the spot, it was easy to sit down right at the edge and stare.

The hole was large and dark. Frisk tossed a spare rock down it with frozen fingers and waited to hear it land; it never did. The only sound was their own broken breaths and the howling of the wind. Everything was cold. Their body felt numb and there was no spark of life in their brown eyes as they peered down into the abyss of the hole.

Frisk wasn’t stupid; they didn’t fall down the hole or get whisked away by monsters.

They simply pushed themselves forward and jumped.

* * *

There was a vague sense of disappointment as their eyes cracked open, their school bag squished between the flowers and their body. Frisk stares up at the light that shouldn’t have been there, contemplating for a brief moment why they’d done it in the first place. They didn't actively wish to die, nor did they actively wish to live, either. Both provided trouble for someone; even in death, Frisk would be a burden.

Disappearing was the best option, right?

There was a nagging feeling in the back of their head, similar to what Frisk would feel upon realizing their homework would once again be incomplete due to their parent’s fight spilling into their bedroom. They didn’t know the word or emotion, except that it was vaguely discomforting and frustrating.

_Maybe you should get up._ The thought didn’t feel like their own, but Frisk followed it anyways. It was remarkable how little damage they’d taken, considering the length of their fall, and upon standing they felt their ankle twinge painfully. _It might be a bit sprained; too bad that snow isn't down here, huh?_

It wasn’t their voice, Frisk realized, with a tilt of their head. Their mother had always ranted and raved about how their birth had ruined the marriage, how their empty eyes and toneless voice was the reason for everything. All the fights, all the screaming.

Frisk wasn’t stupid enough to believe it, but they were smart enough to understand how to survive.

_Your bag’s kinda heavy, isn’t it?_ The voice continued on as Frisk stared forward, taking in the cold, stone walls and the hallway it lead to. _Why don’t you empty it out._

It wasn’t a suggestion, but the order made sense; so they promptly slid the bag from their back and upturned all the contents. Their textbooks, notebooks, and pencil case came spilling out across the flowers, and the voice hissed out unpleasantly. _Hey! Be careful!_

“… Sorry.” It was odd to be apologizing to a voice that had appeared in their head, Frisk realized, but paid the thought no mind. There were no adults and no children to whisper about the kid down the street—in the other class—over there, _over there—_ , no one to point out the obvious fact that hearing voices was not normal. And Frisk was not normal. “Who are you?” 

They spoke only out of necessity; why waste words when no one would care or want to listen? It was easier that way. Their parents accepted apologies and excuses in the same way that their teacher accepted that, no matter how many times she called on or tried to engage Frisk into speaking, it would never work unless the situation required them to do so.

_I’m … Chara._ It took unusually long for the voice to come to that conclusion, as if they’d had to struggle to figure it out. _I think. Who are you?_

“Frisk.” With their backpack now empty, Frisk went about the process of placing the notebooks back in along with their pencil pouch. They left the textbooks. The act itself hadn’t accomplished anything more than if they had simply removed the books manually. Standing up again brought back the strain on their ankle alongside the numbness from the cold and the wounds beneath their clothes. Frisk knew that the welt across their cheek had grown and swollen and was glad they had only emptied the main pocket of their bag.

_… Okay._ Chara seemed unnerved; it was almost funny to know that a voice in their head was already uncomfortable. Yet at the same, it almost hurt. _Well, it sure doesn’t seem like we’re getting anything else done in here. Let’s go._

Walking hurt more now than it had on the mountain, without the cold and slushy snow to numb their limbs and injuries and, now, Frisk had both to worry about and their ankle on top of it all. Chara seemed content with their pace though, so Frisk didn’t attempt to move any faster than they currently were. The more they unthawed the more painful it became, until Frisk was nearly knelt over from the weight of it all. Somehow, they could feel Chara hovering. _It’s fine if you need a break. I … don’t really remember much still._

“Still?” The word caught them off guard.

_Yeah. I guess … well, I_ think _I was asleep, or something, and when I woke up you were here._ It was odd how something entirely incorporeal could have such a physical presence. _And my head’s all fuzzy, I can’t remember much. It’s kind of coming back, but I don’t know._

Frisk hummed, a soft little sound that carried through the cold and dark hallway as they continued on. Slowly, with several breaks, until Chara sighed in exasperation and stated, _Let me do it._

There was a little _push_ ; so faint and weak that, if they’d expected it, or even wanted, could’ve dismissed. But Frisk did nothing and suddenly _felt_ nothing, at least in a physical sense. It was like they’d taken the back seat of their own body, with Chara flailing their arms around and walking around carefully as if they’d never done so before.

_This body hurts,_ Chara complained. _Why are you walking around like this?_

Frisk shrugged and allowed Chara to sink away, leaving them in possession of their body once more. “What else am I supposed to do? I don’t really have any other body.”

_… Yeah. I guess so._

The hallway opened up to a room with another little flower patch. As they approached, one popped up from the soil, an almost cartoon-like smile plastered across the petals. “Howdy!”

Chara had echoed the word near perfectly and Frisk found themselves taken aback in response. The flower swayed, examining Frisk’s tattered and dirtied figure curiously. “I’m Flowey,” he introduced, somehow producing a vine to wave around, “Flowey the flower!”

Frisk stared silently and saw Flowey’s expression falter briefly before snapping back into place. “You don’t look so good, buddy. You’re new to the underground arent’cha? A human, right?” They simply nodded and his smile stretched even wider. Too wide. “Did you fall down? Golly, you must be so confused. There are monsters here, you know. Dangerous ones that will hurt you if you’re not careful.” A ring of white petals began to circle above head as he continued talking. “I don’t like violence, though; so I’ll teach you how it works around here, ‘kay?”

“… Okay.” Frisk raised their eyes to the petals and barely registered Flowey’s explanation before something was ripped from their chest. It was sudden enough to catch them off guard, sending their small form backwards as they tripped over themselves in surprise. Frisk could’ve sworn they heard Flowey giggle.

“See that, right there? That little heart?” The vine from earlier motioned at the little red heart floating in the air. “That there’s your SOUL. It’s the culmination of your being.” Suddenly, it was as if the feeling of having it ripped out had been reversed and Frisk nearly fell again from the abruptness of it. “Your SOUL starts off weak, but can grow strong if you gain a lot of LV—LOVE.”

Frisk tilted their head. “Love?”

“No, LOVE.” The petals were still circling and although Flowey was still smiling there was something odd about his expression. “Your SOUL is made up of your HP. Seems yours is pretty low—would only take one or two direct hits to completely shatter it.”

“Hit Points?” Frisk questioned, memories of action games filtering through their head at the acronym. It felt almost like they’d fallen into some sort of game.

Flowey’s petals disappeared, but he didn't confirm nor correct their assumption despite the strange expression that appeared on the petals. “ … Say, your base HP isn’t all that high, either. What’s up with that?”

_Frisk,_ Chara whispered, _something’s off here. Something isn’t right about Flowey._

Frisk tilted their head as they listened to Chara. They were right, but people had always said the same thing about them. Perhaps … Flowey was the same. He was watching them curiously, the petals and vine gone. Their SOUL had been placed right back in their chest and suddenly, a thought occurred to them.

“How do I take my SOUL out?”

Flowey looked taken aback by the question. “What?” Frisk didn’t repeat themselves, and his expression screwed into something unpleasant, “Hey, buddy … why would you want to do that?”

“To look at it.” Frisk took a step forward and although Flowey didn’t move, the soil seemed to shift around him. “You said … my base HP is low. I want to see.”

Flowey scowled. It looked even weirder on the flower than the smile did. But he told them, regardless, and after a few attempts, Frisk gasped at the feeling of pulling their own SOUL from their chest.

“ … Really?” Frisk looked up at that, examining the expression on Flowey’s face. “What’s wrong with you? You’re not supposed to embrace this, not this way. You’re not supposed to listen to me.”

Frisk let their SOUL sink back into their chest. “Why not?”

“Because! You can’t just listen to everyone you meet!” The expression was beyond unpleasant now; demonic, almost. It ignited a spark of fear in their chest. “This is how weaklings like you get killed. This world? It’s kill or _be killed._ If you go asking a monster how to pull your SOUL out? Guess what buddy?”

Frisk felt their SOUL being yanked out again and nearly vomited from the suddenness of it all. “ **They’ll kill you for it.”**

_Frisk! Move!_

Frisk woke up on a bed of golden flowers, with a bag of textbooks and a body full of wounds, and a deep ache in their chest as the voice called Chara began to stir. The sky was just as bright and the flowers just as soft. The situation was too unreal.

“Chara?” Frisk began, after pulling themselves to their knees. They went about removing their books by hand, this time, rather than dumping the entire thing out like they’d initially done. “Are you there?”

_… Yeah._ Frisk took a good look at their hands, taking in the little scratches and bruises, the unnatural thinness for someone their age. _I don’t like Flowey. And how did we get back here?_

Chara had asked the very question Frisk had been wondering about since they woke. “I don’t know.” They pulled their SOUL out again, sparing a glance around the room to check for any talking flower. When it was clear, they continued their examination.

> LV 1
> 
> HP 2/10
> 
> EXP 0

Curiously, they dug out their pencil pouch and removed one of the pencils, tapping the eraser to extend the lead. They could feel Chara watching on curiously, and actually heard their cry of surprise when Frisk jammed the pencil right into their arm. The lead sunk deep into the skin and Frisk grit their teeth, screwing their eyes together as their arm throbbed in pain. _What are you doing!?_ Chara shrieked. _Don’t go stabbing yourself, are you crazy!?_

Frisk felt slightly sick as they opened their eyes, looking down at the pencil in their arm. There was a faint trail of blood and they yanked it out with a soft cry before turning to look at their stats again.

> LV 1
> 
> HP 2/10
> 
> EXP 0

“It … didn’t change.” Frisk placed their pencil back in the pouch and the pouch back in their bag, tenderly rubbing at the spot they’d stabbed themselves in. “I thought … Flowey said—”

“What’d I say?”

Frisk shoved their SOUL back into their chest faster than they could blink. Flowey stared at them from his spot at the edge of the flower patch, something odd in his expression. “Huh? What’d I _say?”_

“My HP was low … and you said it would only take one or two hits to shatter it.” Frisk swallowed hard, feeling the blood on their hand and arm already beginning to dry. “Is my HP not connected to my physical status?”

“ … It is,” he replied. “But not as strongly as it is to your SOUL. If you were a monster, that’d be different, but you’re a human. Right?”

Frisk stared at Flowey who shuddered and looked away. “God … you’re creepy. Whatever. I don’t want to deal with you.” Flowey ruffled his petals, swaying a bit. “The old hag of the Ruins is making her rounds soon. She’s a big monster. Up to you if you want to engage or not.”

“See you ‘round.”

There wasn’t exactly much of anywhere to go but forward, but Chara seemed reluctant to do so. _I don’t like him. I don’t want to trust anything Flowey says,_ they’d tried to explain, but Frisk had just shook their head and finally gotten up. It was a lot harder this time than the last.

When they entered the room that had held Flowey before, it was blissfully empty. Frisk took a few steps forward, stepping around the little grass patch the flower had previously been in, and headed for the door when they felt Chara push again—except this time it wasn’t soft, or light, or easy to fight against.

It was so strong Frisk was knocked out of control entirely and pushed to the back. “Hey—!”

_I’m sorry, Frisk,_ Chara began, picking their pace up to a run as they exited the door. Frisk could feel some sort of franticness from the ghost—spirit? _I can’t meet her. I don’t want to. We can’t._

“Who’s ‘her’?” It was odd to be watching someone else control their body. Chara seemed to adjust after a little bit, though there were some odd moments where they seemed to take too large of a step, as if they expected the body to be larger than it actually was. The only other being they knew about was the master of the Ruins, but Frisk couldn't understand where the sudden fear had come from. “I don’t see the problem—”

_I just can’t!_ They’d exited out of the dark stone walls and into a purple room containing a bed of flower petals, a staircase, and an oddly warm spot in the middle of it all. Frisk felt their hand graze the warmth for a split second, and felt a rush of strength—enough to shove Chara away and take back control—

But in the process, Frisk stumbled, caught mid-step, and crashed headfirst into the stairs. Chara was screaming at them in their head and Frisk rubbed the spot they’d hit tenderly. “Is someone there?” They heard a voice call out, and Chara nearly ripped the control back again. “Hello?”

_Frisk—Frisk, please. Please,_ Frisk couldn’t understand why Chara sounded so frantic. _Please, Frisk. Don’t let her see us. I don’t want to see her._

“ … Fine.” As much as Frisk didn’t understand, they didn’t want to hurt Chara. Chara, who seemed terrified by something, or someone; perhaps it was the caretaker. Or maybe it was just having to meet another person. Frisk could understand that fear.

The only question was where to hide.

The pile of petals wasn’t very large, but Frisk wasn’t very large either. They shimmied themselves into the corner of the patch, their back pressed up into the shadows of the staircase and path above, and held their breath. It wasn’t all that different from when they’d hide from their father during one of his alcoholic rages. Even their backpack was still on; the resemblance was almost uncanny. Frisk didn't know how to feel about that observation.

They saw a massive shadow pass overhead, down the stairs—and the monster’s back was to them when Frisk finally caught a good look at who it was. Some kind of goat monster, dressed in a purple dress and standing at what seemed to be seven feet tall. It looked around curiously, thankfully never over its shoulder, before continuing the exact way Frisk had come from. If the monster was determined to look entirely, it wouldn’t be long before it found the textbooks they’d abandoned at the first room, and Frisk quickly crawled out of their hiding place and let their hand graze against the warmth before hurrying up the stairs.

There were a series of switches on the ground, though the correct ones had already been pressed it seemed since the door was wide open. Frisk didn’t bother counting their luck, ignoring the sign on the wall entirely. The next room held switches that had already been marked for them, and Frisk flipped them as quickly as they could before moving on. Their body ached—the day (night?) had already been so long, with the wounds from their trek up the mountain and fall down the hole, their fight with Flowey … everything had stacked upon their shoulders, leaving them tired and weary. They wanted to rest.

But there was something wrong with Chara. Chara, the voice in their head, who they’d met only an hour ago. Chara, who was afraid of the goat and hated Flowey, who had gone quiet since Frisk agreed to avoid interacting with the master of the Ruins. Chara, who had the power to take control of their body if they so wished.

“Chara?” Frisk began, once they’d hit a bridge covered in spikes. There had been too many long hallways and without much food or energy to run off, Frisk could feel themselves growing weaker. They’d been dodging strange-looking frogs the entire way, feeling the creatures pull their SOUL out each time and having to wrestle it back in before they could continue. Their HP was still so low, they didn't want to risk getting hit. “I don’t … know which way to go.”

_… Right, yeah._ Chara pushed them slightly. It wasn’t an attempt for control, this time; just a suggestion. _I think I know the solution._

Frisk relented control and was happy to fall back and watch, albeit slightly nervously, as Chara maneuvered their way slowly through the spikes. There were a couple of close calls, but when they finally reached the other side of the bridge the both of them breathed out in relief. The next room was long, but otherwise empty, and Chara continued for the both of them. Frisk didn’t bother asking them to return their body back. There was a large pillar at the end, massive and imposing; it seemed impossibly tall and wide, casting a shadow large enough to hide their diminutive frame three times over, and Chara plopped them down in the shadow, laying back to stare up at the high ceilings of the Ruins. Their chest rose and fell with each gasp and huff for air, seeming too loud in the wide, empty room they’d taken refuge in. It had been a long time since Frisk had to run for so long without stopping. Their backpack pressed uncomfortably into their spine, the spine of one binder rolling up against it each time they moved.

_Frisk?_ Chara began. They still had hold of their body. _Why did you fall down?_

“Because,” Frisk began, “both living and dying would cause too many problems for others. Disappearing … is the best option.”

_… I see._

“Do you remember anything yet?” Frisk felt their head shake against the ground, no doubt drawing more dirt into the already dirty brown locks, and watched Chara lift their hand up to the ceiling.

_I have these chunks. Uh—I guess memories. But they’re all so fuzzy, and I can’t figure out much of what’s going on in them honestly. But I … I just don’t feel good. When I think about seeing Toriel, I just—_

“Who’s Toriel?”

Chara went quiet for a long while. By the time they finally managed to reply their breathing had evened out and legs stopped aching. _She’s … Toriel is the goat monster who Flowey told us about. It’s who we’re running from._

“So we are running, then.” Frisk simply stated. “Is she … is Toriel dangerous?”

_… I don’t know. I don’t think so,_ Chara admitted, finally sitting up. _But when I think about seeing her, I get a sick feeling in my gut. Do you know what I mean?_

If they had control of their body, Frisk would’ve tilted their head. “Not really, no. Can you be more specific?”

_No._

They jumped when Flowey popped out of the ground between their legs, scowling at them in that strange way only a flower could. “Why are you just _sitting_ here still?” He snapped. “The hag _knows_ you’re here and she’s looking everywhere for you. Asking the Froggits if they saw ‘A small creature, perhaps a human?’” He pitched his voice to that of a woman’s as his face warped into that of a goat’s before flicking back to normal. “In fact, she’s just over there … I bet she’s gonna see you. I wonder, if I were to tip her off …?” He cackled when Chara’s hand shot out to grab his stem, disappearing back into the stone somehow before popping out again. “Better run.”

The amount of strength it took for Frisk to take control of their body back from Chara was comically small, but considering the ghost was both seething in rage (murderous?) and terror they weren’t too surprised. A quick peek around the pillar showed they were still clear to run, and Frisk did exactly that.

Except, in return they nearly plowed right over another frog monster that stood in their path. Frisk didn’t make a sound as they fell, despite having twisted and contorted their body in an attempt to keep upright, and the frog loomed overhead.

_“Ribbit, ribbit.”_

Frisk furrowed their brow. They couldn’t quite make out the words being said—it was a _frog_ —but Chara seemed to have them covered with translation, somehow. _It says that, if you act a certain way or fight a monster for long enough they may change their mind about fighting you._

“ … How did you know what it was saying?” Frisk questioned, once they were up and moving again. The warm spot in the flowers had nearly coaxed them into staying there, though. There was a pot of candy up north, and they stared at the sign telling them to just take one. Chara told them to take two _(There’s two of us, Frisk.)_ and at that point, why not just take it all?

When the candy spilled to the floor, Frisk couldn’t help but feel guilty about the mess. Now, the master of the Ruins would know they were there for sure. The pot had laid undisturbed for long enough, only to be upturned and ruined by them.

But that was nothing new. Frisk destroyed everything they touched; they destroyed their family, their mother and father’s marriage, their own life.

_Frisk?_ Chara prodded, when they nearly fell through the leaves once again. Their head felt so muddled and heavy that the puzzles of the Ruins felt like a mountain that had to be scaled. _I can do it for you if you’d like._

“ … You’re getting more confident,” Frisk commented, after a long while of watching Chara do puzzles and dance around monster attacks. Once or twice, the ghost had nearly clocked one of them in the face, but the Whismun were too flying in circles and crying to notice. Froggits were a bit different, but considering Chara knew what they were saying—or knew how to fool Frisk—it wasn’t all that surprising that they knew how to SPARE said monsters, too.

(Chara nearly punched a rock, too. It helped that the rock hadn’t pulled their SOUL out for battle. Frisk reigned them in by pure logic alone before they collapsed in the next room, in a warm spot with a table and a piece of cheese to their right. It was ridiculous how tired they were.)

_And you’re talking a lot. What’s your point?_ Chara shot back, not maliciously but not innocently either. Frisk had no body or muscles, but if they had they might have just finched.

It hurt.

Frisk said nothing in response, drawing their consciousness forward and letting it envelop them. It’d only been an hour, and here they were throwing away their rules. The rules _they’d_ created to keep themselves safe and others pacified. Don’t talk unless necessary, don’t engage in conversation if you don’t have to. Never initiate or imply you want anything and never, ever, _ever_ become comfortable. It would just be ripped away, and that hurt far worse than having to act and become indifferent to anything and everything.

(Frisk knew the feeling too well. They’d owned a pet, once, long ago. A calico runt who slept on their belly and licked their face when they’d been too young to stop the tears from pouring out their eyes while their parents screamed down the hall; they were five when their mother threw it into the backyard as punishment for Frisk being too loud. The next morning, the fresh snow was blurred with blood and the cat was found chewed up and mauled beneath the threadbare and empty tree that stood at the fence line. Their mother took one look at their heartbroken expression and proceeded to use the memory to taunt and rub in their face for years after.

_Oh, Frisk. Remember what happened to xxx when you were bad? What if that happens to someone important?)_

Frisk had learned and now they were already forgetting.

“… I’m sorry,” they finally managed. Their voice sounded as tired and empty as they felt but Chara either didn’t realize or didn’t care. “Would you like to rest? I can take over again.” They were talking too damn _much._ Frisk felt uneasy. They needed to shut up, they had to be quiet, they _had to they had to—_

_If you really want,_ Chara replied, shrugging before they sunk back and allowed Frisk their body back. _We have a long way to go, though. You might get lost, but I’ll try to guide you so that it doesn’t happen._

Of course. Frisk couldn’t do things on their own; they were useless, after all. A demented and horrible child that had plagued their family like a parasite for years. They had to be quiet.

A small, warped smile slipped to their face and the emptiness in their eyes was more pronounced. Just like it’d been when they fell. “Thank you.” The words tasted toxic and Frisk could almost hear their parents screaming in their ears. Emptiness was good, emptiness was safe.

Frisk was empty.

Perhaps that was why, when they stepped into the next room and found another hallway, they got to watch as their slow and sluggish body failed to dodge an attack from the Froggit. They felt the deep, soul-wrenching pain of their SOUL shattering, the sharp intake of breath from Chara … the feeling of copper in their mouth as they vomited up blood before collapsing to the floor.

Frisk woke up in a warm spot that they'd left less than two minutes before and Chara said nothing except,  _Are you okay?_

They just nodded. Chara accepted the answer, reminding them to be more careful, and Frisk pulled their SOUL out, examined it for a few seconds, before letting it slip back into their chest and moving on. They didn't die this time, somehow managing to get the Froggit to hop away of its own accord and disappear to wherever they went after battle.

Neither Frisk nor Chara noticed when their HP dropped down one, from 10 to 9, in the span of a second, or how a little yellow flower followed them from a safe distance with a sour expression on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ruins loom overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chara's character is fun to write. I know they probably seem all over the place, but that's kind of how I see them so /shrug
> 
> thanks to everyone who left kudos, bookmarks, and comments! I really appreciate it, hopefully this chapter will be enjoyable. Not much is happening yet; the Ruins is kind of an entry for the whole thing, which is why there are so many breaks and time skips. Toriel's cool, but there's really not much to do there, so the story will start to pick up soon.

_In her hands is my heart_

_And she won't let go 'till it's scarred_

_-_

Frisk felt bad admitting it, but meeting and fighting Napstablook had taken up all of the energy left in their small body. It’d been extremely taxing, especially considering that the monster was fully aware of Chara’s existence, which only seemed to intrigue and excite said ghost.

They’d ended up propped up against a wall as the two ghosts talked through Frisk’s body, with Chara seeming to forget how terrified they’d been of being caught by Toriel. Napstablook just seemed confused by the entity, but was willing to keep up a conversation and even seemed a bit happy to do so.

They’d tuned out most of the conversation until something trembled in their chest. It was just enough to drag their attention back, but by then—

_Whoa,_ Chara breathed out, and Frisk’s eyes widened when they realized that they had somehow gained control of their body again, and that there was another corporeal ghost floating around. They looked eerily similar to Frisk, though were noticeably taller and had a different hairstyle and—

Red eyes?

_Frisk—Frisk, look!_ It was Chara. The ghost was flying around the room, passing through walls and examining their hands like it was the most fascinating thing they’d ever seen. _I have a_ body.

Napstablook smiled tentatively, and Chara flew straight through him only to freeze when they caught Frisk’s eyes.

_… What’s wrong with your eyes?_

Frisk blinked rapidly, unsure why their chest hurt so badly. They’d heard the words countless times, spoken in cruel and harsh tones that were meant to hurt. Chara’s was just confused, maybe a bit concerned, but—

But it _hurt._

“Your eyes are red,” Frisk instead replied, shoving their hands underneath their sweater to hide how they’d started trembling. “ … Will everyone be able to see you now?”

_“no, chara can only be seen by us. and other ghosts._ "  Napstablook explained. They nodded in response. _“um … though, i don’t know why,”_ he admitted, his tone a touch self depreciating. _“sorry … i don’t really know why they can appear at all, actually.”_

Frisk didn’t know why he was apologizing, but they excused him anyways. “Does this mean you’ll stop taking my body?”

Chara hummed, before slamming into them. Frisk gasped, lurching back, and feeling their body move without their control. _Nope. I can still take you._

Frisk exhaled uneasily when Chara left their body and continued hovering in their ghost form. “Okay …”

They were so tired. They just wanted to rest; why couldn’t they just _rest?_

When they finally continued, their exhaustion felt more potent. Even stronger than they ever imagined it could be. Chara was taking full advantage of being able to fly around, reading the signs that Frisk didn’t care enough to read and examining monsters of their own accord. It didn’t even interrupt Frisk’s motions, which they appreciated. Occasionally they would fly out of sight, into another room or through a wall, only to meet up again in the next room or around the corner. Their chest was beginning to hurt, too, and their stomach was unsettled, but they brushed it off as another symptom of how tired they were. It'd been a long night.

But the exhaustion continued. And continued. They stuffed candy in their mouth when Chara told them it would heal their HP—and promptly was smacked in the face by a vegetable and lost half of it again. Each fight wore them down more, and more, until everything crashed on their shoulders and dropped them to their knees. The pain had grown in magnitude, wrapping invisible arms around their throat and choking them with a kind of brutal coldness that burned.

Frisk stumbled across the spikes and practically collapsed into the third switch room, their vision blurring as the room spun around them. Dark spots dancing across their vision and Chara hovered next to them, concern shining in their red eyes. _What’s wrong?_

They groaned, gagging on the excess saliva that had accumulated in their mouth. They were so _nauseous and weak—_ it was as if everything had hit them once their fight with Napstablook was over. They rolled onto their back, blinking up at the tall ceilings of the Ruins. The remaining pieces of candy were heavy in their pocket and the blindly reached in to grab and unwrap one, stuffing it in their mouth. The sweet helped with the blurriness, but their limbs still felt so heavy and their stomach burned.

Frisk closed their eyes, sighing quietly and attempting to breathe through the pain. The Ruins were so quiet, it could almost be considered peaceful if not for the fact that they felt about five seconds away from passing out. “Hey … Chara?” they started slowly, swallowing the excess spit collecting in their mouth. “I’m sorry.”

_… Why?_

“I don’t think … I can keep us away from Toriel.” Their bag wasn’t a good cushion or pillow, but they were too tired to move to take it off. “I know you didn’t want to see her.” On cue, they felt Chara slip into control, but even then their body was too weak to do much more than squirm. They felt the ghost’s frustration and felt them slip out, settling beside their head.

_It’s fine,_ they replied. _You’re really weak, huh? I wonder what happened. When’d it all start?_

Frisk tried to respond, but there were cotton balls in their throat. Instead, a wet gurgle escaped their throat, and Chara looked over at the other room. There was no goat, but for once they hoped the large figure would come into view. Otherwise, Frisk was going to be stuck here.

Chara pulled out Frisk’s soul to look and furrowed their brow. They hadn’t noticed before, but there was a distinct and light slit down the middle of the red heart. Their HP had gone down, too—which was startling, to say the least. They had no clue when that had happened, only now realizing it.

Frisk exhaled again before slipping into unconsciousness, unaware of what Chara was doing with their soul and the candy that was resting in their cheek, completely forgotten about.

* * *

Frisk came to in a warm bed, with sheets tucked up to their chin and darkness shrouding them. Chara was sitting on the floor, staring at the stuffed toys that they couldn’t interact with. The rustling of the bedsheets brought their attention back and they quickly got up, crossing their arms over their chest. _You’re up._

Frisk nodded, sliding out of the warmth of the bed that was much too high off the floor. Their feet swung, toes not even grazing the soft rug, taking in the entirety of the small room. It was decorated how they’d always imagined a normal child’s room would be.

(Their own room was bare, with simply a bed and desk furnishing the large space. It always felt so empty in there when alone and too full when their parents came in.)

“Where are we?” Frisk questioned, sliding off the bed. Their shoes had been removed and left by the door, as had their backpack, but they were still dressed in the clothes they’d fallen down in. Their body didn’t hurt anymore, though, and the exhaustion that had plagued them was far gone now, thankfully. Something still felt off, but Frisk had no idea what it could be.

_Toriel found us. Good thing she did, too, since you were like …_ Chara made a vague motion with their hand, struggling to describe the sight they’d seen, _choking, I guess. It was weird._

“Choking?” Frisk slid on their shoes and checked their backpack to see if anything was missing. When they found everything intact they pulled it back on and cautiously cracked the door open, moving as slowly as possible to minimize the amount of noise the door made. Their parents refused to oil the hinges back home, meaning they could hear any and every time Frisk dared to leave their room. They’d become good at soothing the loud hinges, but there were times when even the slowest door opening didn’t fix the noise. This door wasn’t nearly as loud, and they managed to slip out and close the door without a single sound. The hallway spanned further to the right, and Frisk dared a look left. It was empty.

The hall light was on, but all the other doors were closed. Frisk listened carefully before opening the one down the hall, finding another bedroom that was thankfully empty. It was painted in soft blue tones, in contrast to the reddish-pink of the one they’d woken up in, and held a bed far larger than the twin-sized one they’d been asleep in. They made sure not to touch anything, though Chara had no such hesitancy. Still, the ghost was careful, and Frisk positioned themselves by the bucket of snails. They were slowly crawling around the metal walls and floor enclosing them, and Frisk raised their eyes back to the door. If Toriel were to come in, they could probably make it under the bed before the monster noticed them.

_It looks the same … but different,_ Chara muttered from their place by the bookshelf. They floated up to the top, reading one of the names on the bound spine before dropping back to the floor. _Are you gonna look?_

Frisk looked at the door once more, listening for any signs of movement in the hallway, before hurrying over to the dresser. “Watch for Toriel?” they requested, tipping the lowest drawer open. Chara huffed, but flew through the door regardless. Frisk felt bad going through Toriel’s things, but their parents had liked to keep things hidden in their dresser. Several times, they’d been subjected to a smack from whatever object their mother pulled from her underwear drawer, and while Frisk was fast enough they knew their mother hated it when they dodged. Their father was lazier about it (and more dangerous) and _that_ was when Frisk ran and hid; if Toriel turned out like that, they could only hope she was more like their father.

It was as they were pushing the final drawer back into place that Chara flew back through the door, quickly informing Frisk that Toriel was coming down the hall. Immediately they rose to their feet, glancing around the room and wondering how long they had to find a suitable hiding place. _Here, c’mon,_ Chara urged them, flying over to the bed. It wasn’t quite pushed up against the wall, and Frisk grimaced before reluctantly crawling over the covers and sliding into the space between the bed and the wall. They made sure to lie flat on their back, sliding halfway under just in case, and waited.

The door opened not a second later and Frisk held their breath. They could see fuzzy feet standing by the door and Chara peaked above the bed, watching carefully. “Oh … where did they go?” Toriel murmured, casting a cursory glance around the room. Frisk had been careful not to misplace or disturb anything without putting it back where they’d found it, and Toriel stood there for a few seconds longer before exiting the room. Chara was quick to follow, and a minute later they returned.

_She went downstairs, now’s your chance._ Frisk pulled their body out from under the bed and quickly exited the room. They glanced at the stairs as they entered the entry and, when Chara confirmed the coast was clear, slipped out the front door, feeling the warmth of the air against their fingers as they retreated.

There was a rotten tree in the front yard and Frisk glanced over their shoulder once more as they passed it, entering the Ruins once more. “Where’d we pass out?”

_You mean where’d_ you _pass out?_ Chara corrected, before guiding Frisk to the right. _C’mon, this way._ Chara lead Frisk out of the hall and back into the switch puzzle as they explained, _We were really close, actually. Still not sure what happened to you, but …_ they shook their head. _Don’t go doing that again._

Frisk tilted their head, bemused by the statement. “I don’t even know what caused it,” they replied. “Did Toriel?”

_No. But I don’t care—if you start feeling that bad again, tell me! I thought you were gonna die, and then we’d just end right back up at our SAVE, and—_

“SAVE?” Frisk repeated. “What’s that?”

It wasn’t until they were in a familiar-looking room that Chara finally spoke, settling down against one of the pillars. _Remember how, each time your SOUL has shattered, you’ve woken up somewhere before that?_ Frisk nodded. _Well, that spot is our SAVE spot. We—well,_ you _can LOAD anytime you want to. Whether it’s because you’re in danger, or your SOUL shattered, or you just want to … you can whenever._

“How do I know where they are, though?” Frisk questioned. “Shouldn’t I be able to see them?”

Chara blinked. _Wait, you can’t?_ Frisk shook their head and the ghost raised a hand to their chin in thought. _Well, that’s weird. I can see them just fine; they’re these yellow glowing spots. You kept touching them, so I thought you could see them; in fact, you touched one when we left the house._

They sighed, sitting down beside Chara’s incorporeal form and drawing their knees to their chest. “Guess I can’t.”

Chara frowned, looking at Frisk expectantly, but when they said nothing else Chara huffed again and crossed their arms over their chest. _So you really don’t know what happened?_

Frisk muted another sigh, shaking their head. Chara was levitating a bit, positioned as if they were laying back against something rather than just floating mid-air, and they tilted their head back to stare at the other child. _So what’re you gonna do?_

For someone who’d snarked about Frisk talking a lot, Chara sure ran their mouth. Frisk had done their best to recede into the background, making sure their carefully sculpted mask of indifference had no cracks and that their replies were straight to the point to avoid any kind of annoyance or frustration from them. They could understand not wanting to hear what they were saying; Frisk knew they had no real input to a lot of situations. But the constant questions were something completely opposite of what they expected.

Chara swung down to wave a hand in their face and blinked at the involuntarily flinch. _Well?_

Frisk breathed in deeply, shoving their hands under their sweater and grasping the thin shirt beneath it tightly. “I … don’t know. What would you like me to do?”

_Me?_ Chara hummed, settling back down beside Frisk as they thought. _No clue. Toriel already knows we’re here, so there goes hiding from her, and—_

“Young one!” Frisk startled at the voice, immediately leaping to their feet and turning to face the direction they’d come from. Their shoulders stiffened as they watched the monster approach, and Chara floated beside them quietly. “Oh, there you are; I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

They swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.” Toriel’s eyes were soft and her posture was nonthreatening, but Frisk knew better than to let their guard down. How many times had their mother feigned a moment of weakness or tenderness only to turn around and smack them?

Too many, that was the answer.

“Oh, child … you scared me so.” Toriel knelt down to their height, reaching one fuzzy hand out to stroke their cheek. Frisk bit the inside of their cheek hard, feeling their nails dig into the thin skin of their palms. “I feared, for a moment, you’d escaped the Ruins. It is a dangerous world out there, in the rest of the underground … not fit for a human child.”

Frisk nodded silently, and Toriel’s smile melted into concern. “Are you injured, my child? You seem unharmed, but—”

“I’m fine,” they replied, averting their eyes. Toriel was acting like their teacher, which brought forth uncomfortable memories. “Who are you?”

She blinked, only now realizing they’d never been introduced. “I’m Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins. I was making my usual rounds through the Ruins when I found you collapsed … your HP was dangerously low, and your SOUL weak.” Toriel stood then, patting down her dress and offering a comforting smile to Frisk. “And who may you be?”

“Frisk.” They ducked their head respectfully, making sure to keep their eyes away from Toriel’s as they plastered on their usual smile. “Thank you for helping me.”

“It is what I am here for, Frisk. You are the first human to fall in a long time, actually,” she informed, reaching out to take their hand without warning. Frisk very nearly pulled away, only to still just in time. Adults didn’t like it when you resisted; it was better to go along with their requests and actions and get it over with faster. “But no worries … I have taken care of many children in the past.”

_Wonder where they are,_ Chara muttered almost spitefully as they trailed behind Frisk. They glanced over to look at the ghost, tilting their head quizzically. Chara just shook their head. _Forget about it._

“You must have many questions.” Toriel lead them back to the house and, this time, Frisk blinked when they spotted the little flash in the leaves. They reached their free hand out to touch it, feeling the same warmth from earlier run up their arm. “But for now, perhaps you should eat something? I had hoped to celebrate your arrival, but …” she trailed off, shaking away the thought as the large door closed behind them. Frisk hadn’t said a word since introducing themselves, but there was a tinge of unease in their belly. Toriel was being far too friendly; maybe it was because she hadn’t yet had to deal with Frisk. “Another time, perhaps.”

People who dealt with them learned how much of a pain they really were. They changed their behaviour just as Frisk expected them to and it had long since stopped hurting any more than on the surface level. They were sat down at a massive dining table, seated on a chair that was just as high as the bed, and hooked their feet behind the legs. Chara took a seat on the table instead, drawing their knees to their chest as they watched Toriel head into the kitchen to retrieve something. _Think there’s any chocolate?_

“Chocolate?” Frisk repeated, blinking. “Do you like chocolate?”

Chara nodded. _I wonder if I could just go through the fridge door and check …_ without further warning they took off after Toriel, leaving Frisk alone in the living room. The fire roared, strong and powerful in the fireplace, and they sighed softly, resting their head in their arms. They hadn’t quite understood why Chara wanted to run from Toriel initially, but was beginning to build their own ideas as to why they should’ve just sucked up the pain and kept going. Toriel was too nice and it left Frisk unable to relax; they couldn’t trust someone who was unconditionally kind. There was always a motive, but Frisk hadn’t been there long enough to figure out what Toriel’s was.

Chara came flying in right before Toriel, who was carrying a large plate of food in her fuzzy hands. It was nothing special, but Frisk felt their mouth salivate at the sight of the sandwiches. They’d been mostly subsiding off of the state-funded breakfast and lunch programs and stale crackers they’d pilfered from the cupboard while their parents were asleep, but it hadn’t done much for their scrawny figure. Frisk had long ago gotten over the fact that they looked more like a second or third grader than a fifth-grader, but it didn’t make them feel any better about it.

Just another thing to target.

“It is not much,” Toriel explained, taking a seat across from them, “but I have not had a chance to go shopping yet. I … I would like for you to enjoy living here, even though there is not much.”

Frisk paused, staring at Toriel blankly before ripping their sandwich in half and shoving it in their mouth. “You … want me to live here?”

“Well—yes,” she replied. “I mean … there is not anywhere else in the Ruins to stay, unless you’d like to live in the walls with the Froggits'.” She giggled at that, but Frisk gave no response. ”And returning the way you came is not possible.”

“ … I see.” Chara watched them nervously. Frisk had completely wiped the emotion from their face and voice, the emptiness in their eyes more pronounced. Toriel hadn’t noticed, though they supposed it was because Frisk had avoided all forms of eye contact with the woman. “Thank you for offering me your home.”

Toriel smiled gently. “You’re welcome, my child.”

_Hey,_ Chara prodded, when they noticed Frisk was still chewing the same bite. It was complete mush in their mouth, but they couldn’t bring themselves to swallow it. _You okay?_

Frisk didn’t respond. Toriel eventually asked them about their preference; butterscotch, or cinnamon, and they raised their eyes just enough to meet Chara’s. It was an unspoken request, but Chara fulfilled it regardless and slipped into Frisk’s body to answer for them.

Toriel didn’t notice the change, and Frisk let Chara walk them back to the room and lay down before reluctantly taking control of their body back. _What’s wrong?_

Frisk shook their head, staring at the pink wall. If they reached their hand out, they could just brush their fingertips against the plaster walls; the paint wasn’t chipped like their own room, there was no cold draft from a broken heating unit, and there were toys that gave the room a feeling of artificial warmth.

But it felt no different than the one they’d run from and Frisk squeezed their eyes shut, pretending their chest didn’t hurt. It wasn’t like they knew the emotion, so it didn't matter if they ignored the feeling and pretended it didn’t exist in the first place.

* * *

They snuck out that night and checked the fridge and cupboard for chocolate, finding nothing much to Chara’s displeasure. Apparently, it’d been too dark for Chara to see on their own when they went to look earlier that day. _Where’re the knives, anyways?_ Chara questioned, scowling as Frisk went through the drawers. Except for the white fur stuck in the sink, the kitchen was spotless, and they shut the drawer quietly. _She had one earlier. Where’d she put it?_

“Does that matter?” they responded, their tone hushed. Toriel had been nothing but kind, but they were still uneasy. Still, Chara had eased up on their distrust, instead encouraging Frisk to trust in Toriel for whatever reason. They didn’t understand, but didn’t dare question the ghost. “Why would you need a knife?”

_… I’m just wondering,_ they muttered in response, poking their head out the wall to check for Toriel again. _Coast’s still clear, so keep looking for it._

They sighed, leaning back against the counter and looking up at the ceiling for a second before resuming their search. “I still don’t get why you want to know where the knives are.” The only reason Frisk could think of knowing their location was in case Toriel attacked them, but …

They didn’t want to hurt or kill her. The idea of stabbing Toriel, or really _anyone_ just left them feeling sick to their stomach. They were already a monster simply by existing … killing someone would only make them more nonredeemable than they already were. They couldn't do anything about being born, but they could very well keep from killing another living creature and making the lives of others miserable. That’d been why they jumped, and they still managed to mess it up somehow.

_Just_ look, Chara snapped, turning around and shoving Frisk hard. Surprisingly, they stumbled forward into the counter, banging their ribs against the corner hard. The impact knocked the breath out of them and they barely managed to stabilize themselves with the edge of the counter. Chara blinked, looking beyond startled by the display. _Whoa, you okay?_

Frisk hissed out in pain, rubbing their ribs tenderly. “You _pushed me,_ ” they said slowly, and although they were just as confused as Chara their tone was carefully blank. “How did you do that?”

_I … I dunno. Maybe it has to do with the whole ‘I can use your body’ thing?_ They guessed, clasping their hands together behind their head. _Listen, just hurry up. If not for the fact that I have to be on watch, I’d just do it myself, but we’re in deep trouble if Toriel finds us._

Frisk crossed their arms, staring at Chara long enough for the ghost to squirm, before shrugging their shoulders. There was a brief flicker of disappointment in their brown eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, and Chara didn’t even notice it’s brief appearance. “ _…_ Fine, just keep watch.”

Eventually, Frisk found one in the very back of the drawer, and Chara ushered them back to their room as soon as it was hidden in their waistband.

* * *

Toriel read books to them in the living room, the smell of cinnamon and butterscotch filling the small house. She seemed to recognize Frisk’s hesitance and didn’t push, for which they were thankful. Toriel’s interest in snails was intriguing, and she loved to share facts or passages from her books. Frisk let her do so, sitting in front of the fire with their legs curled up to their chest. Chara laid beside them, grumbling about how boring it was the entire time, and it was just enough for them to crack a tiny smile. It was gone quickly, but Chara blinked a few times when they spotted it.

Wisely, they didn’t mention that they’d seen to Frisk.

* * *

Toriel was a teacher, Frisk learned. It explained why she tried so hard. It made acting even easier though; all they had to do was respond the same way they always had. Toriel would give up eventually.

* * *

_I want to see how sharp it is,_ Chara told Frisk, three nights after they’d stolen the knife. It was shoved in their backpack, wrapped up in the scarf Frisk kept in the smallest pocket. The question left them dumbfounded, and Chara pushed for control. Frisk pushed back. _C’mon, Frisk. Just a quick poke._

“… Why are you so obsessed with the knife?” Frisk asked, kicking the bag under the bed. Chara huffed, sinking right through the mattress. Frisk could see their feet sticking out from under the bed, and lowered themselves to the floor so they could stare under the bed. Chara’s red eyes stared back from the darkness, and it was enough to send an involuntary shiver down their spine. Something about it felt … wrong. Dark.

They shook the thought away. Chara looked slightly uncomfortable and averted their own eyes. The room was silent, with neither of them trying to continue the conversation, and eventually, Chara huffed out a breath and crawled out from under the bed. It was an entirely unnecessary action, which for some reason brought another minuscule and faint smile to Frisk’s expression. Chara shuddered.

There was something disturbing about seeing such a soft smile combined with empty eyes.

_I … listen, you can’t judge me. Okay?_ Frisk nodded, and Chara fiddled with their shirt before sitting crisscross. _When I was a—alive,_ they stumbled over the word, _I was dumped in an orphanage. The place was crap, and the kids hated me because of … well, these._ They motioned at their red eyes, and Frisk tilted their head, silently urging them to continue. _Those punks would always try to pick on me for it, call me names, all that stuff. So I’d pick up a knife and scare them away._

_They stopped messing with me because I had something to protect myself with. So … if we have a knife, you can do the same thing. Or I can,_ Chara offered, _since you seem like such a baby about it._

“I just … don’t want to hurt anyone,” Frisk admitted. “I already hurt people by existing. If I go stabbing people, or even just waving a knife around to scare them, it only makes me a worse person.”

Chara frowned, opening their mouth to argue, but Frisk shook their head. “Stop—you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Frisk dragged the bag out from under the bed, sitting up and unzipping the pouch they’d shoved the knife and scarf into. The fabric had managed to avoid getting damaged, and Frisk ran their fingers down the soft scarf before holding up the knife. It was thin and about the length of their hand, and they held a hand out to Chara. “If I do this, you’ll leave it alone?”

The ghost stared at them, a strange expression in their eyes, before they nodded. Frisk exhaled softly, slumping their shoulders, before they rolled up their sleeve. They didn’t want to be doing this, but Chara was begging. Chara asked them, and Frisk could feel their frustration as if it were they own … and they didn’t like the feeling.

Emotions, especially ones that weren’t theirs, felt _wrong._ It made them uneasy.

Frisk swallowed hard and slid the blade against the skin of their arm. It was barely any pressure, but they gasped in pain when they felt the skin split open. _Whoa—what are you doing!?_ Chara shrieked, reaching out to snatch the knife from Frisk only for their hand to go straight through it. _Why did you cut yourself!?_

Frisk squeezed their eyes shut, breathing through their nose before putting down the knife and pressing the scarf to the wound. It wasn’t deep, but it was bleeding enough to cause trouble. There was a comforting emptiness in their chest, devoid of the earlier emotions, and they found it almost relieving.

This was the first time they’d made themselves feel empty without having to consciously do so. Their arm stung horribly, and Chara was flipping out across from them, but Frisk smiled again before wiping it from their face. “It’s sharp.”

They weren’t entirely sure why Chara looked so disturbed by the description.

* * *

Chara didn’t talk to them the next morning, and Frisk hated the way their chest ached at the ghost’s silence. For a moment, their thoughts turned back to the knife. It had been so easy to clear everything away; just one little cut was all it had taken.

Frisk shook the thought away. Chara would never talk to them again if they did that, and although they were used to being ignored and hated, something about Chara being the one to hate them made it feel worse than usual.

* * *

“Chara?” They attempted, when Toriel stepped out of the room to go check something. “I’m sorry for what I did.” Chara kept their back to Frisk, saying nothing, and Frisk curled into a tighter ball. Their expression betrayed none of their feelings or thoughts, but there was that same feeling of hurt that they hated. They were used to this—so why did it feel so awful?

“My child?” Frisk froze at Toriel’s voice, hoping to whatever God existed that she hadn’t overheard the apology. “Is everything alright? You look a bit pale.”

They nodded stiffly, dropping their feet off the chair. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Toriel frowned. “Frisk …” they didn’t look up as the monster approached, instead watching the ground for the telltale furry feet that were approaching. “I know we have only known each other for less than a week, but I would like it if you could talk to me.” When they remained silent, she laid a large hand on their head, immediately drawing back when they felt how Frisk stiffened. Toriel filed that information away for later. “You are still so young … you must have a family up on the surface, correct? It’s understandable to miss them.”

Frisk grit their teeth together, suddenly hit by a surge of anger. The range of emotions they were feeling was terrifying, and a quick look at Chara showed that the ghost was still ignoring them. They had to reign themselves back under control, and _quickly,_ because this many emotions were dangerous for people like them.

“It’s okay,” they finally managed. Although their emotions were a mess, there wasn’t enough to leak into their voice, and Frisk took a moment to compose themselves before continuing. “Thank you for your concern, Miss Toriel.”

“Oh, dear, like I’ve said before; just Toriel is fine.” Frisk nodded. They’d had this conversation several times already, but dismissing the ‘miss’ was nearly impossible. Still, considering how many times it’d been brought up, Frisk didn’t want to push their luck. Toriel had been calm and kind so far, but everyone had a limit. “If you’re sure you’re alright …?”

Frisk gave their rehearsed smile and response. It was enough.

When the door of their room was shut behind them Chara finally spoke to them. _Why do you keep pretending?_ They shrugged, but Chara didn’t let up. _You’re uncomfortable, but you just keep letting Toriel do whatever she wants; why don’t you_ say _something_? _You’re being a pushover._

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Frisk muttered back. “We’re with Toriel now; she’s taking care of me. So I’ll do what I have to.”

_Stop being such a pushover!_ They wondered for a second if Chara was going to push them again, but the ghost instead kicked the bed. Their foot went straight through the wood, which only seemed to enrage them more. _If you’re upset, or don’t like something, just_ say it!

Frisk nodded, because that’s what Chara wanted. They could feel their partner’s emotions, rolling in their gut and weighing heavily in their chest and throat, and knew exactly what to say in response.

But so did Chara.

_You’re doing it again,_ they spit out, red eyes narrowed into an angry glare. The lighting of the room left strange tracks on their cheeks, as if ink had been spilled, and it was enough to startle the child. _Why do you let people push you around? Speak up! Say something for once! Not your bland responses that make people be quiet; speak what you want._ Say _what you want._

Frisk’s mouth was dry and, for the first time in a while, they were stuck on how to respond. Their instinctive reaction to such anger was to go quiet, with muttered apologies in hopes of placating the ghost. But with how Chara was acting, they were fairly sure that would cause the opposite of what they wanted.

Chara noticed their hesitance and sneered. _Don’t know how?_ They taunted. _Just say what you want. I don’t care what it is, just speak your mind, for once. You have to feel something, right? I’ve seen you smile. I’ve seen it, and I don’t mean your fake ones that you give Toriel._ Frisk noticed they hadn’t mentioned themselves. Chara was either unaware that Frisk gave them those smiles, too, or was simply ignoring the fact.

“What … I want,” they repeated. But Frisk didn’t _know_ what they wanted; there was the desire for silence and emptiness, because emotions made them feel stuffed and uncomfortable, but they didn’t know if they really wanted to do it. It was something they’d done their best to discard, but falling through the mountain seemed to have knocked their walls down. “I want …”

They didn’t want to admit it, but if they did Chara would be placated. It went against everything they stood for, but was the only thing that would work in their favour. Still, there was a sick feeling of fear in their gut and an uncomfortable tightness in their throat as they mulled over the words.

Chara waited quietly as Frisk worked through their thoughts, sorting everything together and lining up words that would sound sincere. It’d been so long since they admitted anything that wondered if they were even capable of doing so. “I want to stop feeling,” they finally admitted. “I want to be empty and feel nothing.”

The ghost watched them carefully and Frisk stared back, brown meeting red. There was still no spark in their eyes, but Chara could feel that they were being truthful. Even if their words felt fake, they weren’t. Frisk had just forgotten how.

_That’s a stupid want._ But there was no malice, and Chara floated down beside Frisk and reached out a translucent hand. It didn’t go through them, for some reason; instead, it felt just like a corporeal hand would. _You’re human._

Frisk shrugged, and their expression flat lined again.

* * *

That night, Chara watched with a tight expression as Frisk traced the knife against their skin. There was a feeling akin to guilt when they saw the skin break and blood spill out.

* * *

Toriel taught them math they’d learned years ago. Frisk didn’t want to risk anything, so they kept that information to themselves and pretended they had no clue what was being shown to them. Chara sighed, but watched over their shoulder, their eyes drawn to the sweater covered limb. If it hurt at all, Frisk didn’t show it.

* * *

 When Toriel served them snail pie, Frisk asked Chara to take control. The ghost had rolled their eyes at the request, poking fun at the other, but shoved a forkful in their mouth anyway. It tasted familiar.

* * *

Frisk wondered about the lower floor, but Toriel seemed to have a sixth sense regarding that area of the house because every time they began to descend the staircase, Toriel would usher them back upstairs. It left them uneasy, and after the fourth failed attempt she made them promise to stay away from that area. Frisk crossed their fingers behind their back as they agreed.

“Chara, you can go down, right?” Frisk asked, one night. Toriel had tucked them into bed awhile ago, and Chara had flown next door to confirm the monster was asleep. “Can you check what’s down there?” Chara crossed their arms uneasily, but agreed regardless. Frisk could feel the emotion, and briefly considered asking about it, only to discard that thought. They didn’t want to pry, and emotions weren’t a good place for them to wander into.

_I’ll be back,_ they agreed, before sinking into the floor. Frisk hugged their knees to their chest, wincing when they felt a sick, twisting pain in their gut. As the seconds ticked on, the pain only grew, rising to their chest and expanding outwards. It was enough to draw a gasp from their mouth, their eyesight blurring for a moment before it snapped into place again. A trembling breath escaped their throat, their hand fisting the bed sheets to hold back a pained cry.

The pain was unbelievable, not unlike what had struck them down in the switch room, and their heart pounded in their chest. “C-Chara,” they started, stumbling out of the bed. The ghost didn’t reappear, and Frisk collapsed to their knees, grimacing. “Ah … ah—”

The pain was blinding, and Frisk couldn’t hold back their whimper when they slumped down against the floor. Tears blurred their vision; it was the first time in years that they’d cried. It was a foreign feeling, and suddenly they were struck by a flash of terror. Were they going to die here? The pain had magnified into something far greater than what it had once been, and Frisk clutched the fabric covering their chest, wheezing. _Chara. Chara, Chara, Chara—_

Their mouth was frothing, vision spotting, and Frisk was just about ready to give in to the darkness when the pain began to recede. A few seconds later the ghost shot through the floor, their expression frantic. _Frisk!_ Frisk trembled, their limbs spasming at the sudden change. Chara hovered anxiously. _Are you okay? Did it happen again?_

They nodded. “I—I’m okay now,” they whispered. “I’m okay. I’m—”

“My child?” They heard Toriel call out. Frisk attempted to get to their feet, only to collapse back down when their limbs failed to cooperate. Chara took control and somehow managed to pull them onto the bed just as the door cracked open. “Frisk? Are you alright in here? I heard a thump.”

“I, um, I-I just fell out of bed,” Chara replied, wincing at the tremor in Frisk’s voice. “Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Toriel’s brow furrowed. Chara couldn’t mimic Frisk very well, which was why they’d avoided taking over, but Frisk was in no position to do so themselves. Still, it was suspicious, and they quickly ducked under the covers. “Night, M—T-Toriel; Toriel. Goodnight.” Their blood ran cold at their near slip of the tongue.

“ … If you are sure, then I’ll leave you be … you can talk to me if something is wrong though, Frisk.” Chara nodded, desperately trying to appease Toriel in hopes of getting the monster to go away. They had to check on Frisk, who had all but disappeared into the background. It didn’t even feel like they were awake. “Goodnight, my child.”

“N-Night.” Chara held their breath at the sound of receding footsteps, and only once they were sure they heard Toriel’s door close did they release their hold on Frisk’s body, watching uneasily as the body slumped down. _Frisk? Frisk, c’mon; c’mon. Answer me._

It took a minute before Frisk finally nodded. “I hurt,” they whispered. "It hurts … my chest hurts.”

Chara spared a look at the door before pulling out Frisk’s soul. The crack from before was still there and although their max HP was still at 9, they were still baffled as to when the change had occurred. Frisk didn't even know, either; neither of them had checked their soul since arriving.  _Your HP is getting lower,_ they explained, watching Frisk’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Their eyes were closed, but they weren’t asleep. _And you’re not at full HP anymore, either. See? You’re down to one again …_

Frisk cracked their eyes open, staring at the blurry red heart, and nodded. They didn’t know what that meant, except that it couldn’t be good. _Maybe the Royal Scientist will know why,_ they mused, releasing their hold on the soul and allowing it to sink back into Frisk's chest. They had no clue who that was, or how Chara knew about them, but were too exhausted to ask. _We’d have to leave the Ruins to ask him though._

“Oh …” Frisk knew Toriel wouldn’t let them go. They didn’t even know the way out, anyway. “Hey, Chara. … What did you find?”

_Huh? Oh--I found a huge door. It had a massive hallway after it and I was almost to the other door when you called for me._ They reached out to poke Frisk’s cheek, grinning when Frisk batted at the hand. _So I came back. That should be the way out, though._

They nodded. Chara continued to talk, and Frisk could feel their body relaxing despite it all. _We’d have to go all the way to Hotlands, which is pretty far from the Ruins. But I can show you the way._

“So … you remember?” They questioned, their voice only half there. Whatever had happened had sapped the strength from their small body, leaving them utterly exhausted. “That’s good …”

The last thing they heard before their body gave up on staying awake was Chara ordering them not to fall asleep, and it was almost funny to Frisk how they had no choice but to disobey the order.

* * *

The next morning, Toriel banned Frisk to their bed. All it had taken was one look and the goat monster had somehow known something was wrong. Chara had giggled when Frisk expressed confusion, but didn’t dare tease the child over it.

With nothing else to do, the two plotted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walls close in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meant to post yesterday but i hope everyone who celebrated had a great thanksgiving
> 
> i wanted to get at least to meeting sans and papyrus in this chapter, but the ruins look waaay longer expected. i actually considered breaking this into two, but couldn't find a good place to do so since it's really a stream of events that are so close together.
> 
> sorry to anyone who was hoping for that, but i promise the next episode will involve them going forward!
> 
> btw: toriel may seem like a bit of an ass in the start of this, but i promise she's not really like that.  
> btwbtw: i know there's a tense change in this chapter, so sorry about that. My usual writing style for 3rd person POV is past tense, but since I write several first person fics in present tense it sometimes bleeds through. I've been trying my best to catch it, and the next chapter I'll be returning to past tense. I'm sorry if this irritates anyone,

_There’s one word to describe it._

_Endlessly._

_It endlessly and tirelessly repeats_

-

The plans they laid out were numerous, though not all of them made the cut. Chara tended to stray towards the more ridiculous ones after Frisk had approved one of their suggestions, not understanding why they needed more than three options.

“You can’t even interact with anything,” Frisk pointed out, when Chara offered to create a distraction that would give Frisk time to run out the ruins. “You’re incorporeal.”

Chara shrugged, shoving Frisk’s shoulder lightly. _I can interact with you._

“ … Yes,” they agreed, “but wasn’t your plan for us to split up?” Chara shrugged again, leaning further back against the wall. Frisk wasn’t sure why they only floated through on occasion; perhaps it was a personal choice. Regardless of that, though, they’d been brainstorming all morning. A few ideas had been plausible and filed away for later contemplation, but having only a few options was dangerous. Multiple backup plans were a must.

Chara didn’t share the same mindset, and if their ridiculous suggestions were anything to go by they didn’t understand the big deal. _Fine. What about …_ they paused, averting their eyes to the wall, and Frisk felt their stomach tighten. _Remember how I told you that I used the knife to scare people into leaving me alone?_

“I won’t threaten Toriel.” Their voice was firm and Chara winced.

_I can do it. Listen,_ they started, when Frisk went to argue, _I know you think it’s a bad idea, but it won’t hurt her. She’s a BOSS monster, Frisk! Waving a knife around won’t do a thing to her, and it would just be a last resort; if everything else fails. She wants us to stay here forever, but … something’s wrong with your soul._ Frisk pressed their palm to their chest, saying nothing, and Chara continued, _If we stay here, who knows what’ll happen. What if it goes lower? Or you keep having those … attacks. You nearly died last night, Frisk. I could feel your SOUL growing weaker, and—_ their voice wobbled with uncertainty, _and … I don’t want you to die._

“I can just LOAD,” Frisk pointed out. “It hurts, but if it happens … it’s not permanent. So why does it matter?” There was a touch of bitterness in their voice, at having yet another choice torn from their grasp, but just like every other time, there was nothing they could do. “Maybe—I could test it, and try to figure out what’s happening.”

Chara shook their head. _No. Absolutely not. What if it takes away your ability to LOAD? Huh?_ They sat up fully, jamming their finger into Frisk’s chest. _Then what? Then you’re_ dead, _Frisk. And if you die, then I die too. I lose this body, I can’t move, I can’t talk …_

Frisk was quiet, their stomach still knotted tight with guilt and frustration. Of course; Chara was tied to them, for whatever reason. It was unfortunate that the ghost ended up with someone like _them_ , but not much could be done about it at this point. “ … I understand,” they said evenly, brown eyes locked on their folded hands. “Then, I suppose it can be the last resort.” It was sickening to agree; something about the plan just didn’t feel right. But Chara was so sure about it and had been stuck with someone like Frisk. It was the least they could do, as much as they disliked the idea and risks.

Chara nodded, a relieved smile crossing their face. _Thanks, Frisk._

They nodded, pretending that their arm didn’t itch and burn.

* * *

“Toriel?” Frisk prompted, after lunch had been finished. They were due to start lessons soon, meaning that Toriel was flipping through her snail book and Frisk was doing their best to soak up the warmth of the fireplace. They were still technically on bed rest, but that was neither here nor there. “What do you keep downstairs?”

Toriel froze. Chara watched carefully from above, and after a drawn-out pause the monster shook her head. “My child, there’s no need to worry about that.”

Frisk wanted to back down. The thought of challenging an adult, especially an adult monster, made them uncomfortable and anxious. They weren’t supposed to argue; they obeyed, or hid when obeying was too dangerous, but never argued. Adults were too strong and held too much power over them.

_God, I’ll do it,_ Chara grumbled. They still hadn’t gotten down Frisk’s manner of speaking all that well, but they were never going to get anything done like this. “I still would like to know.” It wasn’t the best impression, but it could’ve been far worse. “You don’t want us going down there, but you’ve never explained why.”

Toriel stared at the fire and Chara crossed their arms impatiently. More than anything they wanted to keep pushing, but that was very much _not_ Frisk. Frisk would wait until the end of the universe to avoid speaking out of turn, regardless of how badly they wanted answers. Finally, after what felt like hours, she sighed. “That is a passageway that leads to the rest of the underground. I hope you can understand, now, why you must stay away.”

“So that’s how we leave the ruins?” Chara confirmed, wincing when they felt Frisk pushing for control again. They must’ve gone too far. “It’s the only way out?”

Toriel stood suddenly, the abrupt motion startling them enough to upset their balance. “I must do something,” she informed them quietly, but there was a fierceness beneath the words. “Come with me.”

Chara tried to yank their hand away, but Toriel’s grip was too strong, and Frisk was quick to bleed back through and grind their heels into the ground. “Let go …!”

Toriel ignored their order, releasing their hand just long enough to reach into her pocket for something, and Frisk took the opportunity to run. “Wait!” Toriel cried out as they scurried down the stairs, jumping the last few in their haste. Chara trailed behind, watching Toriel advance on them, and spared a look up ahead. _We have a really long ways to go, but—_

Frisk promptly tripped and stumbled straight into a wall, feeling their SOUL being yanked from their body. _Frisk!_ Chara cried, trying to urge the red SOUL back into no avail. _Get up—are you okay?_

Frisk nodded, ignoring the awful pulsating and aching headache as Toriel came to a stop in front of them. They levelled her with the blankest look they could manage, not even risking any sort of emotion coming out. Although they’d done their best to rebuild their walls and defences, something had changed; going blank wasn't nearly as easy as it had been on the surface and it was beyond frustrating. The least they could do was hide those emotions from others.\

“I am sorry, Frisk,” Toriel apologized softly. The sincere tone was sickening. “I did not mean to startle you such. But I cannot allow you to proceed down this hallway. Ahead of us lies the end of the Ruins, and the entryway to the rest of the Underground … it is no place for a child.”

Frisk gathered their courage, swallowing their fear and ignoring Chara’s prodding at the backpack. They knew what the ghost wanted them to do. “Why not?”

“Human SOULS are highly sought after,” she explained, thankfully showing no anger at their questioning. “And every human that falls down here meets the same fate.” Toriel closed her eyes, a pained expression crossing her face. “They come, they leave … they die. King Asgore … he will kill you if you leave the Ruins. But here, you are safe. No one can harm you.”

_You can,_ Chara bites back, with so much venom that it surprises Frisk. _You just ran us into a wall._

“Don’t you see, child? I am only protecting you.” She watched as they attempted to pull their SOUL back into their chest, but to no avail. She had a tight grasp on it and had maneuvered herself so she was blocking the path forward. “I will release you now, but you must promise to return to your bedroom. This will not take long.”

“No—”

_No!_

Their voices rang out at the same time and for a brief second, Toriel looked startled, as if she’d heard the echo of Chara’s voice, too. But the surprise melted away into something cold and she averted her gaze. “You will obey, Frisk; do not try and stop me.”

Frisk struggled against her hold on their SOUL. Technically, if they really wanted to, they could take off running without it, but something told them that would be an awful idea. They had no idea what triggered that thought, but it was just … there. Not even Chara, with their usual ludicrous ideas, dared mentioning the option. “You—you have no right to keep me here,” they forced out, hating how much terror those words brought them. What were they _doing?_ This was how they got hurt; talking back was wrong, dangerous …

Frisk hadn’t felt this scared in forever.

“What?”

They swallowed. “I said—”

Toriel shook her head and, although she hadn’t vocally interrupted them, the dismissal was enough to chase the words away and leave them speechless. Frisk stumbled to regain their voice, but fear had closed around their throat and left them incapable of even speaking, much less arguing. “No, Frisk. Return to your room at once,” she ordered again, releasing her hold on their SOUL and watching it sink back into their body. “I am going to destroy the exit; this is your final warning.”

Toriel stalked on ahead, leaving Frisk to crumple to the ground with laboured and haggard breaths. Chara frowned, laying a hand on their shoulder, but had no idea what to say. They spared a look ahead and then back down at Frisk, a conflicted expression shining in their eyes. They wanted to push Frisk forward, even if it meant they had to do so themselves, but Frisk looked about a second away from hyperventilating. It was the most emotional Chara had ever seen the child, and it left them with an aching feeling in their chest that they hadn't felt in forever.

_You’re okay,_ they soothed with a sigh, drifting down to rest besides Frisk. _I’m going to count, so just breathe with me. Ready? One, two, three …_

The walls around them rumbled ominously and Frisk flinched. They’d been breathing along with Chara for an unknown amount of time, but it hadn’t been nearly long enough to do much for improvement. “We … have to go. Let’s go.”

Chara crossed their arms, watching Frisk stumble to their feet. They were still breathing too hard and erratically, but they didn’t have time to wait. Toriel was _destroying_ their only way out, and Frisk couldn't bear the thought of staying forever. Eventually, she would realize what everyone else did—that Frisk was a waste of time and space, and that their presence made people miserable. They didn’t deserve this kindness they tried to bestow upon them, and when Toriel finally figured that out, there would be no running.

_You look like you’re on the verge of collapsing,_ Chara pointed out, their frown growing when they stumbled forward and into a sprint. _If she asks you to fight her, what are you going to do? Run?_

Frisk shook their head, but didn’t try to speak. Running only made breathing harder but, with how loud the walls were and the violent shaking, they didn’t have time to stop. They wouldn’t—no, they couldn’t be trapped. They refused to watch the kind expression of the ruin master morph into hatred and realization over how horrible a child Frisk was.

It would hurt too much. They wouldn’t let it happen.

“Stop!” They yelled, voice cracking from the unusual and sudden change in volume, when Toriel’s back came into view. There was rubble surrounding them and Frisk barely avoided a slab crashing down on their foot before they skid to a stop. Toriel turned around quickly, the surprised look becoming something more horrified.

“My child, you must return to your room at once. The walls are unstable; I fear you may become—”

“You—you can’t keep me here,” they interrupted, shoulders stiffening when Toriel shot another round of fire magic into the wall. The stone was definitely chipping now and, soon, there would be absolutely no escape, from both the Ruins and this basement. “I’m not a pet! I’m not just—” they were interrupted by a hacking cough, the smoke making it even harder for their already strained lungs to breathe. “I-I’m not … someone to be owned.”

There was a deafening crash as a flurry of stone and rocks crashed down behind them, drawing an involuntary cry from Frisk’s mouth as dust scattered around them. Chara screamed as well, remarking, _That’s where I was standing!_ despite knowing full well that they could’ve phased straight through it, and Toriel immediately moved to shield Frisk from the falling stone.

Frisk froze at the proximity, all their senses screaming _danger._ Closeness was dangerous, it left no room to run or hide; they were _trapped_ and—

“Get away from me!” They stumbled backwards, their head banging into the hard floor as they shoved Toriel away with as much force as they could muster. Toriel blinked in shock and, although it did no good, Chara flew down between the goat monster and Frisk as if they intended to act as a shield. From their spot on the ground Frisk struggled for air, their hands digging into their hair in hopes of grounding themselves. The room was distorting itself more and more by the minute, but the panic had dragged them into another sense that left them oblivious to the danger around them.

Toriel looked stricken, but was wise enough not to approach despite the fear in her eyes. “My child, my ch—Frisk!” She tried instead, trying to break through the haze of fear she could see cocooned around the child to no avail. “Please, you must get up—you must return upstairs before it is too late!”

_And what about you?_ Chara spit, despite knowing that there was no way for Toriel to hear them. _Are you planning on just dying here and leaving Frisk by themselves?_

As expected, Toriel gave no response or hint that she’d heard the ghost. _Dammit!_ They snapped, before turning on their heel and hurrying over to Frisk. The child was still trembling, though they’d silenced their breathing despite how much harder it made breathing. _Get up, get up—we have to go!_

Frisk shook their head, curling further into the ball they’d fallen into. Chara could feel their chest growing tight with fear, both for their friend and themselves, and they muttered an apology before taking control. Frisk didn’t even try to fight it, though Chara could immediately feel the grips of their panic attack affecting them as well. They would have to be quick, but—

They turned to glare at Toriel, who looked just as stricken. “I—I h-hate you,” they forced out, through trembling teeth and shuddering gasps. “I hope—” they doubled over when their lungs spasmed for air, a ragged cough making it even harder, “—h-hope you—you’re crushed; die mis-miserab—” Chara screamed in frustration, all but spitting out the word, coated in as much venom as they could manage, “ _m-miserable!_ ”

The last thing they saw was Toriel’s shattered expression, one that morphed into pure horror as something fell from above them, a hoarse sob of, “Frisk!” drowning out their laboured breaths before the boulder crushed their fragile body into the ground. The pain was immeasurable and lasted both a second and an eternity before their SOUL shattered.

Chara still had control when they saw the entrance to the house blur to life and they quickly detached from the body and watched Frisk crumble to the ground. Their panic attack was gone, but there was a sickening limpness in their posture. Frisk’s eyes somehow felt even emptier than usual, and Chara ignored all senses that told them to stop before wrapping their arms around Frisk’s shoulders and pulling them into a hug. Frisk blinked blankly, giving no response, positive nor negative, to the sudden contact. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry Frisk._ Chara felt more anger than sadness, but Frisk was practically comatose and lashing out at the moment wouldn't help at all. _It’s okay. You’re okay._

“What a pathetic display.” Chara whirled around in disgust at the voice, wanting nothing more than to crush the flower beneath their heel. “Got crushed by mommy dearest, did you? Oh, wait—that’s right, she’s not your mother.” Flowey cackled, completely unaware of the angry ghost hovering by his stem. “Though, buddy, you sure look like you’ve gone through a shock. Maybe you should go lay down.”

_I’ll take Frisk’s body and crush you if you don’t shut up,_ Chara hissed. Frisk was still unresponsive and they worried that something serious had happened between the time Toriel hugged them and now. Sure, the hug had been completely unexpected and unwanted, but to trigger such a violent reaction was just—

It was unusual.

“How’bout this?” Flowey proposed, popping under the earth for a second only to reappear directly in front of Frisk’s limp body. “If you can get out of here, I’ll show you all the best hiding places. Got it?” He winked, creating a vine so that he could force Frisk to nod. “Great! I’ll see you then, pal. Have fun!”

Chara growled when it escaped back underground. _Don’t listen to him,_ they ordered, taking a seat where Flowey had been and reaching out to pat their hand. I _can show you the best hiding places in the Underground, okay? He’s a good for nothing, horrible mutation, so don’t listen to him._

It took a long time before Frisk nodded, but they didn’t speak for the rest of the day.

* * *

It took two days and seven cuts along their arm for Frisk to return to normal, if their usual state could even be considered normal, though they were carefully distant from Toriel. The slight sliver of affection that had begun to grow had been stomped out when she tried dragging them to their room, and buried completely when she collapsed the basement on them.

Another three days after that had them trying again, this time in the middle of the night. Toriel was fast asleep and Frisk had their bag and shoes on. They slithered out of their room, with Chara watching their back for any signs of Toriel, and tiptoed down the stairs. Now that they weren’t running for their life, the basement felt even more imposing and creepy. The walls were close enough to leave a feeling of claustrophobia in their wake, and with how far down the stairs went the ceilings were just as high as the rest of the Ruins. An involuntary tremble worked through their body as they ventured further in, memories of their bones shattering and splintering beneath a ton of stone still fresh, but Frisk didn’t let it slow them down. As afraid as they were, Toriel wanted to trap them, and although she hadn’t harmed them in this SAVE she had shown that she was capable of it.

Toriel hadn’t been the one to drop the rubble on them, but she’d collapsed the tunnel in the first place to keep them in. It felt more like they’d become a pet than an actual human child—but then again, Frisk was used to it. They were either the freak child with empty eyes and a broken expression, a pity case, or someone to forget about.

They reached the door fairly quickly, having sprinted most of the way down the hall, and were met with the massive door that Toriel had guarded so fiercely. A push with their hands did nothing to move the massive thing and they grit their teeth, shoving with all their might. Their feet skidded against the ground, forcing them to stop and fix their balance, and when that did no good they backed up and slammed their shoulder into the wood.

It creaked, shuddered, even pressed forward a little, but in the end, their minuscule weight was nowhere near enough and left them only with a searing pain in their shoulder. Frisk could feel the frustration swirling behind their eyes and in their throat, the urge to scream more powerful than ever. But they kept their mouth shut, steeling their nerves and ignoring the pain to trying again.

Eventually, though, they gave up, slumping down against the doors that promised their freedom and drawing their knees to their chest. Chara looked just as glum, offering to try through Frisk’s body after a few seconds of sulking, but that proved useless as well.

_Were these doors always so heavy?_ They grumbled, floating through to the other side to check. There wasn’t anything on this side to open it, either, and even if they had managed there was still another door at the end of this corridor to get through. _Wanna try again?_

Frisk shrugged, closing their eyes tiredly. Sleep hadn’t been peaceful for the child, with memories of their death still fresh in their mind and worries about Toriel plaguing them day and night. Would she turn on them in her own home, while they were obeying? Even the kindest people became angry when disobeyed, but—

They froze at the sound of Toriel’s voice. Chara’s head shot up so fast Frisk wondered if ghosts could get whiplash, and they hissed out an angry, yet anxious, breath. _We have to go back up._

“She knows we’re not there.” Frisk swallowed hard, their hands suddenly clammy. She was going to find them down there again—they were going to die again. “She knows, Chara. There's no point—”

_But if we hurry, she might find us near the stairs instead of by the_ door. _It’ll just be like all the other times._ Frisk couldn’t argue with that logic, but the thought of facing Toriel in the basement again left them trembling fearfully. They would have to straighten up quickly, else she saw them so unhinged, but—

“Get away from the door.”

They were too late.

Frisk breathed out hard, squeezing their hands into fists to calm their shaking, though they could do nothing about their full-body tremors. “Toriel,” they acknowledged, hating the way their soft voice cracked under their nerves. “I’m on my way upstairs.”

Toriel looked shaken as well, but her posture was straight and stern. “Why did you come down here, so late at night? … With your backpack none less.” She paused, her expression falling, before it evened out. “No … I understand. You wish to leave the ruins, don’t you? You wish to leave me.”

Frisk said nothing. Toriel sighed, her fuzzy hands clasped together. “You are just like the others. My child, if you leave the Ruins, you will be killed. They … King Asgore, and the Royal Guard, will come for your SOUL.”

“I’m not a pet,” they repeated. “You have no right to keep me here.”

“It is not safe for you out there!” Toriel cried, shaking her head desperately. “Human SOULS are coveted. Monsters will not hesitate to kill you for it.”

_Like they did here? We died twice in the Ruins; three if we count you. It’s not any safer—_ Frisk shook their head, motioning for Chara to be quiet, and the ghost huffed but obeyed. Toriel approached slowly, not wanting to startle Frisk, but it didn’t matter.

“ … Hmp. Fine. If you are so determined to leave, then prove to me you’re strong enough to survive.” Their SOUL came out more gently this time and although their max HP was low, it was full. Toriel was none the wiser without actually checking—and the anger burning in her eyes was enough to keep her from that. The battle was different, this time; flames licked at their skin and clothes, burning off the ends of their hair. She would’ve ended the battled and hauled them back upstairs had she noticed how little HP they had to spare—

Right? She would’ve, right?

But Frisk wasn’t the best at dodging, and even when Chara tried to do it for them Toriel’s flames were too strong—and they met their fourth death at Toriel’s hands, again, a sick feeling of satisfaction filling their gut when they saw the broken expression on Toriel’s face. All it had taken was two hits.

* * *

They tried three times more and died each time, all to flame magic. Toriel was determined to have them prove themselves, but they were too small. Too _weak._ How could they ever defeat her when two direct hits was enough to shatter their soul into pieces?

_Dodge—dodge!_ Chara screamed in their ears, but their legs were too tired. Their SOUL shattered a fourth—

a fifth—

a sixth time.

On the seventh Chara snapped, pushing Frisk out of control without a second thought. They shoved their hand into the bag and this time Frisk is the one struggling and fighting, trying to yank their consciousness back. But Chara had a firm grip on their SOUL, fueled on by anger and resentment, and when Toriel challenged them there was no hesitation as they charged at the monster.

All it took was one hit for Toriel to crumble to dust. They don't hear her last words, don't hear their own labored and harsh breathing, but they do notice their LV tick up to 4 and HP rise all the way to 23. It baffles them, but the sheer guilt and anguish they feel having raised an actual weapon to kill someone is enough for Frisk to send them spiralling back to their last SAVE. Chara doesn't say a single word to them, and neither does Frisk.

* * *

“This is pointless,” Frisk whispered. “We’re never getting out of here. We’re trapped.” Rest hadn't come easy since their first death, and relaxing around Toriel has become near impossible. Of course, she has no idea what’s happened; there’s no way for Toriel to remember those timelines. But the memories are still fresh for the two children, and it’s enough to plague their dreams and twist into nightmares.

_You’re giving up?_

Frisk shrugged. They haven't left their bed since the most recent LOAD and although Toriel’s been doting on them Frisk has kept up their cold shoulder. The anger they’d felt towards has cooled into acceptance, though; Toriel knows what’s best. If they can’t even survive two fireballs, how could they make it anywhere out there?

“I’m … just a weak kid,” they whispered. “I don’t stand a chance—Toriel is right.”

Toriel would get tired of them, and kill them again. Or maybe she’d turn to violence, like their parents had.

Frisk refused to override their SAVE out of the fear of such an event happening.

_We can’t give up. We could’ve_ gone _last time—she was dead! She couldn’t hurt us anymore, and we had a free trip out and you just—_

Frisk rolled on their side, letting their back face Chara. “I’m not strong enough to open the door; we were still trapped in here, Chara. We’re … we’re never getting out.” They traced the wall with their fingers, the exhaustion practically eating a hole through their stomach. “ … I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to stay here with me, anyways. Maybe—” they hated the way their voice trembled. “Maybe … you should go. Without me.”

Chara blinked. There was a long silence in the room, before they finally broke it with a sneer. _Are you_ stupid? They hissed. _What kind of terrible idea is that? Why would I leave you? What would I even do?_

Frisk shrugged, but Chara refused to accept that response. They dropped down in front of Frisk, blocking them from the wall, and Frisk just sighed. “But—”

_But ‘it’s not fair to you’, right?_ The ghost guessed and, judging by Frisk’s silence, they assumed they were right. _It’s not exactly fair to you, either. You’ll be completely alone here if I go._

“… That’s fine,” they lied. “I don’t care. I’m used to it.”

If Chara wasn’t directly connected to Frisk’s soul, they might have just believed them. There was no trace of emotion in their voice and their eyes were blank, just like they'd been in the beginning; but Chara knew that, despite it all, Frisk didn’t want to be alone. They’d seen it and felt it first hand. Frisk feared isolation and loneliness, as much as they protested that they didn’t. As much as they purposely put themselves in situations that would leave them isolated, they hated it

Chara wasn’t going to leave them.

_We’re gonna figure this out,_ they said firmly, their red eyes seeming to glow in the dim lighting. Frisk met their eyes quietly. _We won’t die this time, and—_ they hesitated, _and we won’t hurt anyone._

Frisk shrugged, turning onto their other side. “If you say so, Chara.”

* * *

They wandered through the Ruins the next day, trying to explore every nook and cranny that they could find. Along the way, they found a toy knife and another door and immediately went about trying to push it open, only to fail when they noticed the keyhole.

_Damn,_ Chara cursed, and Frisk blinked in surprise. _Just when we thought we’d found the solution, this damn stupid—_ they kicked the door, watching their sock-clad foot go straight through it, _stupid door!_

Chara looked at Frisk, who raised an eyebrow in interest, and felt their cheeks flush lightly. _What? Yeah, I know some bad words. Is that a problem?_

Frisk shook their head, the ghost of a smile gracing their lips. “No. It just surprised me; you haven’t done it before.”

_Well—it’s not like I do it all the time,_ they grumbled, _it’s just when I’m frustrated. Or need the right word._ To their surprise, that managed to elicit a brief giggle from Frisk who immediately cut themselves off, feeling the dread return. They _laughed;_ when was the last time they laughed? When was the last time they’d smiled, genuinely smiled, to anyone?

What was _wrong with them?_

Frisk quickly grabbed the toy knife, ignoring the door altogether, and sprinted back to Toriel’s home. They made sure to save first, since it had only been a day since the one they kept loading at, and put the toy knife in their bag.  _What’s even the point of that junk?_ Chara asked. _We’ve got a real one, so why're you keeping a_ _toy?_

They shrugged. “I could use this to intimidate, but it won’t hurt them.”

_But it’s still shaped like a knife._

Frisk shrugged again, in a _‘what can you do’_ motion that made Chara snort in amusement. As emotionless as Frisk was around Toriel and other monsters, and even towards Chara in the beginning, Frisk had warmed up to their presence nicely. Perhaps it had to do with dying, over and over again, and being the only other child down there. The only thing that hadn’t changed was their eyes, which was the only foolproof method on how they were feeling. Frisk would lie about anything, provided it would keep them safe from whatever danger they feared was lurking in the shadows.

_So, here’s the plan._ Frisk turned to look at them, removing their shoes so they could sit down on the bed. _We’ve tried talking to her, sneaking down, running away … what if we tell her we have family waiting up above?_ Frisk froze and Chara was quick to elaborate, _Not the truth! A lie! Something … something picture-perfect. Something she could never say no to._

“I … don’t know. What would the story be?”

Chara looked away, but could feel a smile creeping to their face. _Just leave that to me, Frisk. Okay? I’ll do the talking, and we’ll see how it goes._

Frisk agreed. They set the date for two days from now and, although their expression didn’t change much, Chara could see how the weights on their shoulders lifted just a fraction with hope.

The ghost smiled.

* * *

The day came around quickly and Chara could feel Frisk’s anxiety washing over them like waves. They’d agreed to do it early in the morning; with Chara’s knowledge of the Underground and how long it would take to reach Hotlands it was best to get a head start, and as soon as they were up and dressed, with their backpack on, as usual, Frisk let Chara take over.

“Good morning, Frisk,” Toriel greeted, smiling at them from her usual spot. “Did you sleep well?”

Chara shrugged. “It was alright.”

“I am glad to hear. I was thinking, today, that we could take a break from lessons—explore the ruins, perhaps?” Chara blinked, and Frisk’s confusion could be felt in the back of their head. This was new; they’d repeated this day several times already, but never once had Toriel let them out of lessons. “You only saw the main path, but there are plenty of beautiful routes that only the locals know.”

They shook their head. “Ah … no, that’s fine. We don’t have to.” Chara fiddled with their fingers, swallowing uncomfortably. This was not what they expected. “Instead—ah …”

_Too many fillers, Chara,_ Frisk told them. _Be careful._

“I’d … like to know something.”

Toriel’s brow furrowed. “Of course, my child. What would you like to know?”

Chara took a deep breath, counting down from five, before asking, “How do we leave the ruins?”

The change in Toriel’s posture was immediately visible. Her grip on the book tightened, her expression falling and posture stiffening. “Why … do you want to know that?”

And here it came.

“I have to get back.” Chara forced their expression into one that showed only a sliver of concern, rather than the full thing that they would rather give. Even strong emotions only showed at a minimal level due to Frisk’s limited emotional range, and it wouldn’t be good to mess that up now; especially with their own discomfort over the lie they’d picked out. “My, uh, my little brother is sick. He’s a big crybaby, you see, and … well, he tried to eat some flowers in our garden.” It was hard to keep their facade up with Toriel’s lack of response, but Chara plowed on. “He’s really sick from it. And he kept crying and begging me to pick the—” Chara fumbled for a second, struggling to think of a flower that would work. “The … mountain harebell. It grows at the tops of mountains, and the closest one is Mount Ebott.”

_… No they don’t. Those are from Alaska._

Chara ignored Frisk’s correction, watching for Toriel’s response. Her eyes had slipped shut, her face scrunched up in pain, and they jumped on the opportunity. “He’s been sick for weeks, and they don’t think he’s going to make it. So he begged me to get the flower for him.” They looked away, feeling Frisk prod at them when their emotions began to flare up, with a reminder to stay calm. “So … I have to go. I can’t let my little brother die without at least fulfilling his last wish.”

The grief on Toriel’s face was obvious and Chara could’ve sworn she saw tears in the goat’s eyes. But when she looked up her eyes were dry and her expression was one of understanding. “I see.” It took a few moments before she could compose herself enough to speak again. “I … I can see why you would be so frantic to escape here, then. Your family on earth must mean quite a bit to you, Frisk.”

“ … Very well.” Toriel stood, closing her book and placing it on the armrest of the chair. “I shall lead you to the exit of the ruins. However …” Toriel paused, reaching out to pat their head, “you must forgive me, because I have one final request.”

Chara frowned. “What is it?”

“Battle me and prove you are strong enough to survive. I will be waiting for you, when you’re ready.” Toriel went on her way after that and Chara darted out of the living room, watching the horns disappear into the basement. They breathed out shakily and Frisk took over, somewhat surprised by how successful it had been. They'd become so used to Toriel's anger when they tried that seeing her so calm about it felt odd.

“You did it.” They stepped outside to SAVE before entering the house again, glancing around one last time before heading down. After so many deaths in this basement, the dark, confined walls and the high ceiling no longer left them with a pit of fear in their stomach; it’d just become normal. “I’m surprised she believed you, though— … Chara?” Frisk stopped, suddenly aware of something. “Are … you okay?”

_I’m fine,_ the ghost said, but their voice was tight, as if they were holding back tears. For once, Frisk couldn’t feel their emotions; perhaps Chara had muted them, somehow? Then again, if they could always do that … why hadn’t they already? _Just go already—and leave me alone._

It hurt a bit, but Frisk ignored the feeling and continued. It wasn't unusual really, even if they'd gotten used to Chara's presence; everyone back home had acted that way, too.

Toriel was waiting by the door, thankfully with no flames or rubble surrounding her this time, and Frisk looked around the room uneasily. Even though the hallway hadn’t been bad, this room …

It felt like they’d walked to their own execution.

“You’re ready?” Frisk nodded silently, trying to draw on all their memories of the six—seven battles they’d gone through. The attacks that Toriel had, how to dodge them, what not to do and what not to say. “Very well.”

Toriel is oh so gentle pulling out their SOUL, and her eyes drop to the small heart before her hands alight with flames. “Let us begin.”

Neither of them talk, with Frisk and Chara too busy on dodging and watching the environment respectively, and Toriel focusing on her attacks. A flame ball whizzes past their head, going straight through Chara who yelps in surprise. _Whoa—I could feel that!_

A sweep of her hands sends a wave of fire towards them, just low enough for Frisk to jump over and stumble to their feet, only to duck and cover their head when a lone fireball goes through what had been their chest seconds ago. They pant in exertion, despite having not done much so far, and stumble when Chara shoves them in the back _hard. You almost got hit!_ They snap, watching the attacks rain from above, _they’re in a spiral pattern; left! Left! Right!_

Frisk allows Chara to direct them, though they keep a careful eye out for any strays. Without Toriel’s fury, which they’d faced the brunt of their last three deaths, the attacks were far more manageable, though just as dangerous. Frisk couldn’t help but wonder if they would take as much damage if they got hit.

From across the field, Toriel watches silently. There are no words that can fix this, on either end—the only way out is by winning. One of them must be victorious to advance anywhere.

Her expression warps into concern when Frisk trips into a fireball and, only then, does she notice how drastically their HP goes down. “What …?” the words are barely above a whisper, impossible for Frisk or Chara to hear. “I put almost no strength into these flames, and yet …”

Frisk coughs the smoke from the fire beginning to get to them. Although it's just magic, being so close to—and hit by—the flames is more than enough to trigger the fit. Still, they had to keep going; if they didn’t, Chara would be trapped forever. Toriel would keep them and hate them when she realized how big of a mistake they were, and then—then, hell would break loose.

This pain was temporary. They had to endure.

Chara takes over long enough to roll out of the way of a massive flame that would’ve brought them right now to zero, even if they’d been full health. They could feel the exhaustion and weakness the battle had brought upon them, despite how little time had passed. This was the furthest they’d ever made it, after all, and Frisk hadn't even eaten that morning. “T-Thanks,” they whisper, when Chara slips back out.

_Anytime. Now get moving! And eat some candy!_ Frisk somehow manages to unwrap and shove the candy in their mouth just as a ring of flames surrounds them. _Oh no …_

The flames spin, giving the candy time to dissolve in their mouth and restore their HP, before finally constricting inwards to trap Frisk. They breathe in deeply, squeezing their eyes shut for a brief second, before bracing themselves and running forward.

These flames hurt more than the last and sap away not only the HP the candy had restored, but nearly all of their remaining HP, too. Frisk whimpers, feeling the flames burn at their clothing before Toriel waves it away, but struggle to their feet nonetheless. Their face is smudged with dirt and ash, their breaths rapid and ragged as their chest heaves for air, but they stare directly at Toriel. Their eyes haven’t changed, but there’s a hardened determination behind them.

And then, abruptly, all the flames disappear. Toriel looks away, hiding her face with her hands, before falling to her knees with a choked sob. Frisk freezes, unsure as to what they should do, and for a second they swear they feel a hand reaching to take off their backpack; but when they go to heck, there’s no hand but theirs, gripping the straps to keep whoever had tried from taking it. They approach Toriel silently, standing above her crouched body that still managed to reach their chin, unsure what to do.

_Comfort her?_ Chara guesses. There’s still something off about their voice, but Frisk didn’t mention it. _That might help._

“… I don’t know how.” They chew on their lip anxiously, moving over to the monster and staring down at her, before reaching out and patting her shoulder. It was an act that Chara did for them often, and it did tend to be soothing. “It’s—… everything will be alright, Miss Toriel.”

“M-My child …” she swallows hard, wiping away tears with her fuzzy hands, “it is not too late to reconsider. The rest of the Underground—it is a dangerous, dangerous place.”

“… Maybe so,” Frisk admits. “Maybe I _will_ be in danger, and maybe monsters will try to take my SOUL. But I can’t burden you any longer. I have to go.”

Toriel nods, but it's obvious that she’d rather refuse to let them go. It takes a bit longer before she’s composed herself and is back on her feet, and she takes Frisk’s hand so she can lead them to the door. For once they don’t flinch, and watch as she releases them to begin building magic up in her hands. “Please step back, Frisk.”

Immediately they're suspicious, and Toriel must realize that because she explains, “I am not going to destroy the door. But it can only be unlocked with the magic from a Boss Monster. Your HP has dropped dangerously low, and …” she chokes up, “a-and I cannot bear to lose another child.”

True to her word the magic activates the ruins carved into the door. They glow brightly, spreading out from the middle, to the ends; up the wall and around the corners, leaving the whole basement lit up, and Frisk’s eyes widen in awe. Chara looks completely uninterested, though their eyes follow the lights as well. A loud rumbling and scratching filled the air and then—

The door was open.

Toriel pulls her hands away from the door, the magic fading out of existence as she turns to Frisk with a weak smile. “Come. I will lead you to the final door.”

Following another long hallway is an open room with a small patch of grass. It’s completely out of place in the dark room, and Frisk makes sure not to step on it. Chara floats behind the both of them, unusually silent.

The final door is smaller than the last and Toriel sighs softly, pressing one paw fuzzy hand against the smooth wood. “This is your last chance, Frisk,” she repeats, but there is no more desperation. “Once this door has closed, there is no chance of entering the Ruins again; while a regular human or monster SOUL is capable of opening this one, it must be done from the inside, and the previous door will not open, from either side, without Boss magic.”

“I understand.” Their throat is dry and there’s an unfamiliar sickness in their stomach. It makes them long to squeeze Toriel’s hand and feel her squeeze back; to wrap their arms around her midsection and not let go. They feel sick at the thought and foreign emotion.

Toriel pats their head one last time before digging through the pocket of their dress for something. When her hand emerges there’s a block phone in her palm, which she hands it over to Frisk. “This is for you, Frisk. If, in any case, you need anything, or would simply like to call and chat … I have added my number to the contacts list.”

They’re completely stunned by the offer, turning it over in their hands and flicking the screen on and off a few times. Even back on Earth, their parents had never deemed it necessary to give them a phone. Sure, they were still young, but with the dangers that lurked unseen and their habit of locking the door on Frisk, it would’ve come in handy.

_Probably why they did it in the first place,_ Chara says without malice. _That’s how it works._

Frisk breathes in deeply, steadying their shoulders, and nods. “Thank you … thank you, Toriel.” It was the most emotion they’d shown the monster in their entire stay, and Toriel seems to recognize just how rare it is if her expression is anything to go off. “I’m sorry.”

“No … I am the one who should be apologizing. It … is not right for me to keep you here. While I am lonely, you have a family to return to. A family who needs you.” Toriel blinks a few times before she bends down to hug them, and although their entire body seizes up, ready to jerk away and flee, and their mind screams at them to run, Frisk doesn’t stop it. They're shaking, and their breaths are more ragged but, unlike that first time, when the rocks had smashed them flat, they don't feel the guttural, primal fear that had immobilized them. At the very least, they can give Toriel this one comfort. She releases them quickly, taking a moment to heal their wounds and bring their HP back up, before rising to her full height.

“Tell your brother I wish him good health … and please, Frisk, if you will, do not open the door until I am out of sight.” Frisk nods, the cellphone still clasped tightly in their hand. It was the least they could do; despite all the deaths Toriel had caused them and the fear they’d felt, she treated them kinder than anyone else they’d ever met.

They still didn’t trust that kindness, but it was nice while it lasted.

They sat down against the door while they waited and even after Toriel was out of sight they continued to wait. It wasn’t until the resounding _boom_ of the Boss door broke the silence that they got to their feet, preparing themselves to open the door and step into the rest of the Underground.

And a flower blocked their path.

“Howdy!” he greets, managing to draw Chara from whatever slump they’d fallen into. His usual smile is replaced with something sly and knowing, setting the both of them on edge,  “That was clever; verrry clever. Hah—you think you’re real smart, don’tcha buddy?”

He wiggles in his spot, giggling under his breath. “Don’t you remember, _Frisk?_ In this world, it’s kill or **be**  killed. Sure, you went and played by your own rules … but do you really think that sparing the life of a single monster matters?” His expression twists into that same demonic one that they’d seen in the beginning and, unlike then, they're completely unsettled by the sight; the laughter that follows does nothing to help with that feeling. “Don’t act so cocky.”

_Who the hell are you calling cocky you stupid_ _weed?_ Chara stomps over to the flower, slamming their heel down on him, but Flowey continues on, completely oblivious to the ghost attempting to smash him into dust.

“I know what you did~” he teases in a singsong voice, swaying back and forth, before warping his face into what Frisk now realizes is supposed to be Toriel’s, “you **murdered her.** ” They want to defend themselves; tell him how it hadn’t been _them,_ it was _Chara._ The flower hadn’t spoken kindly to them, but something about made Frisk want nothing more than to keep his acquaintance, even if it was just a precautionary measure.

“And then? _Then?_ You went back, because you regretted it. Right?” Frisk dips their head into a hesitant nod and Flowey burst out laughing. “Hah! Do you think I’ll believe that? I saw it in your eyes—I saw the anger, the frustration, the pain … how does it feel to burn alive, Frisk? Did it hurt? What about being crushed?”

_Shut_ UP! Chara finally screams. Frisk flinches.

Flowey takes the reaction as one to his words and giggles again in delight. “You wanted her dead. Right? Because she was suffocating you … she wouldn’t let you go free, and she kept killing you. It makes sense to want revenge.”

“… I didn’t,” Frisk manages. “I didn’t want revenge. It was—”

“‘It was an accident’, right?” He mimics their voice as he quotes them. “Well, if you say so, Frisk. But really … you’re so naive.”

**_“Do you think you’re the only one with that power?”_ **

With that he pops back underground, leaving a fuming Chara and an unsettled Frisk in his wake. They swallow hard, moving over to the ghost who’s still kicking the mound of dirt that Flowey had come out of, and offer, “We should go.”

_‘We should go’ my ass! I say we hunt down that stupid weed and strangle it!_ Frisk isn’t sure if it’s the shadows of the room, but Chara’s face looks … wrong. As if their eyes have begun to melt and darken, with black and gooey ink dripping down their cheeks and chin. _That stupid, rotten, piece of shit—!_

“Chara!” It’s the first time they’ve willingly raised their voice, and it’s enough to startle Chara into a temporary stillness. “Stop. He’s gone, and we have no way of figuring out where he went, so … let’s just go. Okay?”

The shadows recede and Chara’s face returns to normal, but there’s still an angry gleam in their eyes. _…  Yeah, alright, alright, you’re right. We should go._ Frisk nods, moving to push open the door and, true to Toriel’s word, after a fair amount of struggling and pushing, it flies open.

And so does Frisk.

They fall face-first into a pile of snow, eliciting a snort from Chara, and are quick to scramble out of the cold mound. They wipe their face vigorously, shuddering when they feel some of it slide down their sweater, and turn around to look at the ghost with something that's not quite a glare, though it gives off the same meaning.

Chara stems their laughter, managing an amused, _Sorry,_ only to jump when the door slams shut behind them. _Well … huh. Looks like Toriel was right._

Frisk nods, waddling around the heavy snow until they reach a worn-down path, and Chara is quick to follow suit. Frisk doesn’t dare look at them though, unable to shake the unease that had hit them when they spotted Chara’s expression during her tantrum no matter how many times they tell themselves that it was just a trick of the light.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An idea is formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I screwed up the tenses in the first half or so, and I'm really sorry. But I've been agonizing over this for awhile. It goes back to normal, and I'll make sure not to do it again; I sincerely apologize if it irritates anyone, but fixing it at this point is tiring.
> 
> Minor edit has been made to Frisk's HP; max HP is now 9, in comparison to 5.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry for the late update; thanksgiving really threw me off, and my agonizing over my messed up tenses was enough to leave me so frustrated I almost scrapped the whole thing.
> 
> EDIT: Reminder that I'm writing characters based on how I believe they'd react and respond to specific situations. If that happens to be the exact/very similar to their reaction in game, cool. But if it's different, I'm sorry, but that's just how I think they'd realistically react.

_Curiosity made me go beyond_

_Don’t know how, don’t know how_

_To take another step._

_-_

Frisk couldn't help but curse themselves for not grabbing an extra jacket from Toriel’s house before leaving but, in their defence, they hadn’t expected the door to open up into a snowy forest. Chara, of course, was incapable of feeling the freezing temperatures and air that left Frisk shivering, and Frisk found themselves slightly envious. Their trembles only worsened the further they went, though thankfully the mounds of snow seemed to be becoming smaller and less frequent as they distanced themselves from the Ruins. _This seems like the perfect place to make a snowman—or a snow angel. It’s always fun, even when the snow gets down the back of your shirt._

Frisk just nodded, their teeth chattering and hands rubbing their arms vigorously in hopes of conserving warmth. It was even worse than the weather back on Mount Ebott, and they weren’t dressed in the same clothes they’d fallen down in either. Not that the thin jacket would have made much of a difference, but the thick sweater underneath had done a fairly good job at keeping them warm on their way up. “Y-You said you know ho-how to get to Hotlands?” Frisk questioned, involuntarily stuttering in response to the cold. “Is it a str-straight path?”

Chara shook their head. _Kind of. The Underground is really big,_ they explained, widening their arms for effect while watching Frisk carefully in case they were to trip. _The most straightforward path is through Snowdin, then Waterfall. But this forest, this one we’re in right now,_ they made a sweeping motion with their arm, _it’s a really long walk. Like … a good couple hours to get to Snowdin. And then, getting to Waterfall from Snowdin takes at least thirty minutes._

“A-And through Wa-Waterfall?” Frisk hated the stutter, but no matter how hard they tried the cold made it near impossible to control. Frisk didn’t doubt that, if they had to trek through this weather for much longer, there would be a good chance of catching snowbite before even reaching Snowdin. “How long?”

Chara hummed, bringing a hand to their chin. _Hmm … well, there’s lots of ways through Waterfall; it’s basically this massive maze, filled with puzzles and twists and turns. If we take the quick path, maybe two hours? But if we can’t, then … it could be a whole lot longer. Taking the long route is almost a day trip, and since there are so many places to hide and paths to explore it’s super easy to get lost._

Frisk sighed in disappointment. They’d left the Ruins before twelve in hopes of reaching whatever settlement or town was nearest, but if Chara’s words were to be believed they wouldn’t get there until early afternoon—and that was assuming they could keep up a consistent pace, which Frisk doubted considering just how much a toll the cold was taking on them,

The sound of a loud _snap_ sends both the children whirling around, searching for the source of the sound, but all they find is the huge branch they’d sidestepped snapped straight in half. Their trembles from the cold were enough to hide the ones from whatever was following them and strong enough to snap the stick had, and Chara nodded at Frisk. _Keep walking, but don’t go too far, ‘kay? I’m gonna go and look real quick if anyone’s around, but if someone’s following us then it’ll look weird if you just stand here._ Frisk simply nodded rubbing their arms once more and murmuring for Chara to be careful, and the ghost patted Frisk’s shoulder softly.

_Don’t be such a worrywart, Frisk._ Chara teased, _I’m a ghost, and no one but you and other ghosts can see me, so even if I do find someone they won’t even know I’m there. Heck, maybe I could try and scare them somehow—imagine what kinds of pranks I could do if I could just touch other things._

Frisk looked at Chara oddly, taking note of not only their see-through body but the mischievous look in their eyes, and hesitated for a brief second. Finally, after a good few seconds of waiting and trying to keep calm, they reached out nervously and grasped Chara’s hand. Chara blinked in surprise, looking down at the smaller child; not only because Frisk could touch them, but because also they had chosen to do so, willingly. “Be c-care-careful,” they whispered, pulling away just as quickly as they’d reached out. Their entire body seemed stiffer and something strange, almost fearful, was shining in their eyes.

Chara nodded, not daring to reach out and touch Frisk after what they’d just done, and took off into the thick branches. _Promise, I’ll be back real soon._

Frisk stood there for nearly fifteen seconds, staring down at their hand in a mix of terror and confusion. They’d _never, in the longest time,_ chosen to touch anyone who didn’t initiate it first. It wasn’t so much that they were terrified of touch, though there was, in fact, a definite fear of it, but it was a rule they’d created; touching people allowed people to hurt them. The other person could squeeze their hand, yank them forward harshly to throw them off balance, leaving them completely vulnerable, pull them into a hold they couldn’t escape, could twist their arm behind their back, twist their arm painfully—

It made them so _vulnerable_ and yet Frisk had just broken their own rule, and not even by force. It wasn’t the first one, either, and all they could think as they continued down the snowy, cold path, was _‘what’s wrong with me?’_

The trees of the forest tower so high above their head that even when they crane their head back to look for the top, they barely recognize the leaves. The forest itself is so tightly packed that they leave an ominous shadow in their wake, encouraging Frisk to walk faster.

The cold seemed worse now for whatever reason, going straight through their thin clothes. Frisk brought their hands up to their mouth, blowing into them and rapidly rubbing them together in hopes of warming up the frozen digits. It didn't help in the least.

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch-Crunch. Crunch-Crunch_

Frisk turned again, half expecting to see some massive figure trailing after them, but just like before find absolutely nothing. They could’ve sworn they’d heard an echo of their own steps; faint, and just barely there, and Frisk had long since learned to identify when someone was coming.

But either their instincts were wrong, or there really was someone hidden in the depths behind them. Their chest constricted in fear.

“Chara … come back soon, please.” Although they’d usually never request such a thing, their voice was just barely above a whisper, and there was no one around to be seen. “Please.”

Frisk had to take a few seconds to keep going but, the further they went, the worse the cold and fear became and, dreadfully, they felt a familiar pain beginning to come to life. It was a slow process, not nearly as sudden and painful as the last ones, but the trembling in their hands wasn’t entirely from the cold anymore.

It topped off when they heard another echo of footprints, much more noticeable this time, but barely had enough time to figure out how close the person was before their hand was grasping the fabric above their chest and they’d fallen to their knees. It was branching again, spreading down to their stomach and legs, growing and pulsating until even the act of crouching became too painful and their face hit the snow for the second time that day.

The snow was a welcomed relief to the hot pain in their body and they curled their body into something small and harmless out of instinct. They tried to remember what Chara had shown them about breathing but it couldn't exactly do much when Frisk was barely breathing in the first place.

It took a while before the pain started to die down and it was Frisk is climbing to their feet that Chara exited the forest. _Well, I couldn’t find anyone at all. What about you?_

Frisk shook their head quietly, still grasping their sweater in a tight fist, and Chara frowned, _Are you okay? You’re shaking worse than usual, and super pale._

“I—” they hesitated, torn on whether or not they should say anything, What if Chara became angry? These episodes kept happening; the ghost had to be tired of hearing or seeing them. Their parents had been the same, becoming frustrated when Frisk would complain about how feverish and cold they were, and the thought of Chara brushing them off similarly froze the words in their throat. _“_ I’m just co-cold.”

Chara’s eyes were drawn to Frisk’s hand and they immediately released the fabric, dropping their hand to their side.”I promise.”

It was a lie, but Frisk lied all the time; yet, this time, they couldn’t help but feel guilty over it.

_Well, I guess if you’re sure we can keep going._ Chara mused over their thoughts. _If you want, I can take over for a bit so you can get some relief from the cold._

They shook their head at the offer; they didn’t deserve such a thing. “I’m fine.”

Chara sighed, but didn’t push the matter any further.

Eventually, the mounds and piles of snow began to come more and more scarce as they walked on, even though the trees showed no signs of thinning out. Every so often Frisk looked over their shoulder but, no matter how many times they checked, they were met with the same snow, and their own footprints.

It felt like an eternity before they reached a bridge, though it was really nothing more than a board of wood and a poorly made wooden gate with bars spaced far too far apart. Frisk peered over the deep ravine beneath it with a shudder. They could see no bottom and when they bent down to pick up a small rock by their foot and tossed it down, they heard absolutely nothing.

Chara quickly yanked Frisk away from the edge. _Be careful! Who knows what’ll happen if you fall down there?_

“S-Sorry,” they stammered out, taking several steps back until they were a good few feet from the edge. “Do yo-you think we sho-should cross?” The cold had become more manageable, but not nearly enough for the stutter to go away. Chara crossed their arms, floating back and forth in thought, only to be interrupted by the very sound that’d been plaguing them the whole time.

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

They both froze in place, though Chara was the quickest to recover and turned around quickly, only for their eyes to widen when they spotted the approaching figure. _Frisk—someone is coming! Go!_

But, for some reason, Frisk found themselves stuck in place, as if they’d been glued and tied down. Perhaps it was the cold and fear, finally enough to freeze them in place. Ahead was whatever monster had been following them, though its posture and gait was languid and slow, but behind them was a flimsy-looking piece of wood with no handlebars to keep them from plummeting into the depths.

“I—”

_Dammit, Frisk! Go!_ But Frisk couldn’t move, no matter how hard they tried to do so. They couldn’t bring their legs to turn and dash across the bridge, no matter how hard and loudly they repeated themselves to in their mind, and it was Chara was planning to take control that the monster stepped across from them.

**“Human.”** Frisk swallowed hard at the deep and heavy voice, finally regaining enough mobility to take a step away from him. He towered over their small frame, his wide figure shadowed by the large hood and shadows of the trees. A skeletal hand was offered to them, and although it didn’t show in their eyes a deep pit of fear formed in their stomach. **“Don‘t you know how to greet a new pal?”** They stared at his hand anxiously but made sure their expression showed absolutely none of it before looking up.

They were disobeying an adult—or at least, someone far bigger and stronger than them; a _monster._ Disobeying was dangerous, but so was touching another person. If they disobeyed, they’d be punished; but if they reached out to grasp his hand, he’d _hurt_ them.

He held it out for a few seconds longer, his hood still up, before saying, in a much less menacing voice, “uhh buddy. you’re supposed to shake it.”

_I can do it,_ Chara offered, feeling the raw and pained emotions rolling off Frisk despite their blank expression. _You don’t have to._

But before either could agree he sighed and retracted the hand, shoving it back into his pocket. “well,” he began “thanks for the warm welcoming, kid.” He glanced over their stiff and trembling figure, and the way their eyes were locked on his hands, and reached up to lower his hood, revealing the grinning face of a skeleton.

_Whoa,_ Chara gasped, _he’s a skeleton! I didn’t know there were skeleton monsters!_

He looked at them strangely, as if he expected to see any kind of fear or discomfort in their eyes, but instead found absolutely nothing—and immediately was on edge.

“but, uh, hey. it’s okay; not everyone has as _fibul_ as sense of humour as i do.” The pun was bad, even for him, but Sans was searching for something, _anything_ that could trigger a response from the kid.  Instead, he met the same sight; blank eyes, a flat expression, and absolutely no twitch to indicate even a phantom of a smile. “guess that one wasn’t it, huh? how’s ‘bout … well. in a big, dark, dangerous forest like this, it’s a bit dangerous to be _skull_ king around on your own.”

Chara prodded at Frisk, who had gone completely still, before turning to look at the skeleton suspiciously. “not even a chuckle?” he asked, his hands still draped lazily in his pocket. “c’mon, kid, throw me a _bone_ here.”

The order was enough for Frisk to force a smile to their lips, one that looked entirely out of place and sent a shudder down his spine. “great. well, s’pose introductions are in order, yeah? i’m sans. sans the skeleton. how ‘bout you, kid?”

“… Frisk,” they answered, their eyes now locked on a spot behind Sans. He was watching them carefully, the pinpricks of his eyes focused on their diminutive figure when the smile dropped back into the same neutral expression it’d been before. “well, nice t’meet you.” He paused. “hey, uh. say. you heard those jokes before? i can keep tryin’ if you’d like. everyone needs a good joke once and awhile.” He winked playfully, feeling something akin to dread forming in his gut, and scratched the side of his skull nervously.

Briefly, just briefly, Frisk raised their eyes up to look at Sans. He looked straight back at them, his usual grin in place, but seeing just how empty they were first hand stopped him in his tracks and answered the question for him. “well, … ok, that’s fine. maybe another time.” He gave them a once over again, this time really taking note of the way they were shaking and just how how flushed their cheeks are from the cold; and how _tiny_ they were. “ … you’re a human, right?” Frisk nodded and Sans looked around again before muttering something under his breath. Frisk caught something related to some lady but before they could begin to process what that might mean Sans was speaking again, in his same lazy drawl. “so, i’m actually supposed to be on watch for humans right now—” he didn’t miss the way they seemed to curl in on themselves or the way their breath showed in the cold temperature, “but … y’know, i could care less ‘bout capturing anyone. just not my thing.”

Chara continued to stare down Sans as, besides them, Frisk’s posture finally began to loosen. They flew around his body, searching for any external weapon, but find nothing. A growl of frustration escaped their throat and they kicked the back of his skull roughly, watching their foot go right through him like it always did. For all they knew, he had something hidden in that coat, and Chara had absolutely no way to find that out. _Be careful, Frisk. I can’t check his SOUL or anything right now, but don’t let your guard down._

Frisk nodded as indiscreetly as they could, averting their gaze from Sans as he continued speaking. “now y’see, my brother Papyrus? he’s a human-hunting FANATIC.” He watched Frisk’s expression carefully, searching for any kind of twitch to clue him into how they felt about those words, but all he managed to spot was how their fingers tightened around the thin fabric of their sweater.

He glanced over their shoulder, his usual grin growing a bit. Chara looked at him with suspicion before following his gaze, spotting a much taller figure rapidly approaching from behind. _Another monster’s coming._

Frisk immediately turned, noticing the figure just as Chara did, and felt a skeletal hand press lightly against their back to urge them forward. Frisk jerked so badly that they practically careened right off the edge of the bridge, though thankfully Sans managed to catch them by their forearm just in time to save them from sudden death. “whoa there, buddy, be careful.” He released them as soon as Frisk had their balance back, making sure not to touch them again to avoid any more accidents. “c’mon, through this gate thingy. my bro made it to stop humans, but the bars are too far apart to stop anyone.”

Frisk crossed the bridge quickly, followed by Sans. “see? wasn’t so bad, was it?” Papyrus was far closer, now, and Sans nodded to himself. “speakin’ of my brother, i think that’s him up there.” He motioned at the lamp by his station, taking great care in not touching the kid this time. “hm. i got an idea. see that lamp? go and hide behind it.” Frisk hesitated for barely a brief second; not even long enough for anyone to realize it, before obeying. They crouched down low, in hopes of making them even smaller and invisible. It wasn’t any different than when they hid from their father, after all—they were OK. They’d be fine.

Chara placed themselves in front of the lamp with crossed arms, as if they could somehow protect Frisk from being viewed by either of the skeletons as the second one came into view. He was far taller and slimmer than Sans, dressed in a ridiculous outfit that Chara snorted at, and the way he holds himself was a complete and utter contrast to Sans’ lazy posture.

“sup, bro?” With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his thick jacket and the lazy grin on his face, Sans looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world and Chara immediately found themselves disliking him.

“YOU KNOW WHAT ‘SUP’ BROTHER!” Both Frisk and Chara flinched at the booming voice, Frisk more so than Chara, but Sans was completely unbothered by the volume. “IT’S BEEN EIGHT DAYS! AND YOU STILL. HAVEN’T. RECALIBRATED. YOUR. _PUZZLES_ !” From behind the lamp Frisk has their hands clamped tightly over their ears, and Sans glanced over at them for just a moment before returning his attention to his still ranting brother. **“** ALL YOU DO IS HANG AROUND OUTSIDE YOUR STATION! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING!?”

_Frisk?_ Chara attempted, giving up completely on watching the feud between Sans and Papyrus to instead hover next to Frisk. _It’s alright, they’re just arguing about some dumb puzzle stuff._

Frisk nodded, but if their stiff and shaking posture was anything to go by the noise and loud shouting was leaving an obvious effect on them. Chara lay their hand on their shoulder, reminding Frisk to breathe, before they started counting. Although Frisk wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack, or anything of the sort, Chara could only hope that the repetition might help calm and ease their obvious discomfort.

It was easy for the two children to lose track of what was going on behind them and it isn’t until Sans is towering over them that Chara realizes Papyrus is gone. _It’s over; you can listen, now._

Frisk lowered their hands from their ears, watching their breath curl in the cold, winter air. “you, uh … you ok there buddy? you’re free to come out now y’know.”

Frisk got up from their crouched position, making sure to keep their eyes away from Sans’, but not from his face. He was quiet for a moment, contemplating his next words, before asking, “ … are you just gonna stare at me, or …?”

“… S-Sorry.” The chatter of their teeth has worsened and Frisk swears that the numbness they’ve been feeling is because their fingers are on the verge of falling off. Again, they cursed themselves for not taking one of the numerous jackets from Toriel’s house, even if none of them would’ve fit them well.

“no prob, kid. but you 'oughta get going. pap might come back to scold me some more.” He took another look at them and when Frisk turned to go, their hands stuffed under their arms, Sans sighed. “actually, hold on. wait a sec.” He moved over to his station and reached underneath to produce a blanket from its depths. “here ya go. don’t want you freezing before you reach my brother’s awesome puzzles, right?” He winked. Frisk reached out cautiously to take the blanket, half expecting for it to be yanked away at the last moment—that was another trick their mother loved to play on them.

Offer them something, only to tear it away before Frisk could grab it and laugh at their naivety. But when Sans continued holding it out to them, his grin unwavering, Frisk quickly snatched it from his hands. “Tha-Thank you.”

They took a few moments to wrap it around their slim form, the tremors lessening now that there was some other form of warmth other than their sweater. The inside of the blanket was plush and soft, more so than anything Frisk had ever owned or been allowed to even touch back home, and marvelled in it for a few seconds.

But eventually, after the moment had stretched on for too long, Sans spoke once more. “what’s with the holdup?” Their stomach twisted with guilt; there they were again, making mistakes and burdening others. Wasting their time and—

Before that train of thought could continue, though, Sans continued, “look, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of. … it’s just a deep forest filled with skeletons and horrible monsters.”

_You—!_

Frisk bit the inside of their cheek but continued their silence, instead turning on their heel and heading in the direction Papyrus had gone. But before they could pass the evergreen treeline marking the path, Sans stopped them again. “well, kid, i’ll be straight with ya’. my brother’d really like to see a human … he’s been pretty down lately.” Frisk turned around to look at the skeleton, tilting their head quizzically at his words. “but you see, he’s never actually seen a one before, much less got to play with one in his puzzles, so it’d really make his day and help me out, too, if you play along.” His grin seemed a bit more cautious now. “thanks a million. i’ll see you up ahead.

With that, he turns, heading back the way they’d come, leaving Frisk deeply unsettled and Chara noticeably angry. _Who’s he think he is? Saying you’re not a human—just ignore him, Frisk._

Frisk nods, but it’s hard to shake his words from their thoughts. It’s no different than back home—they were used to being called names. A demon spawn, a monster, something that shouldn’t have ever been born into this world. It’d been easier to shake off on the surface, if only because they were surrounded by other humans,

But down here, there _were_ no other humans … were they really so awful that a monster wouldn’t consider them human? Perhaps everyone had been right, all along. Maybe they _had_ been a mistake.

Frisk finds another SAVE after a bit of walking, hidden between two trees. The path branches off two ways, up north and to the right, and after a moment of thought they turn to Chara and ask, “Can you check up there?”

_The top one?_ Frisk nods, and the ghost shrugs. _Sure, why not. Just wait here, OK?_

Frisk scuffs their shoe into the snow, watching the white powder fly in the air. They’d never really played with snow before; their parents had always refused to buy them proper winter clothing, claiming to be a waste of money, but there was no one stopping them now.

They can feel their chest tightening, a twinge of pain rippling through their body, but Frisk brushes it off and instead kneels down to take a handful of snow, only to immediately drop it and hiss in pain at how cold it’d been. Their hands were very quickly growing red from the direct exposure and Frisk wipes the moisture off on their sweater before tucking their hands in the blanket they’d wrapped around their body.

There’s a chest to the right and they pry it open, finding several pairs of gloves inside, each a different colour. They settle with blue, if only because it matches their sweater and Sans’ blanket, and after pulling the fuzzy gloves on pick up another handful of snow. It doesn’t burn their fingers this time and a tiny smile graces Frisk’s face as they spread their fingers and watch the snow slip through the crevices. The pain in their chest had grown only marginally, nowhere near how bad it’d been every other time, and they go about trying to shape a snowball. It’s a struggle to get it round like they want but, in the end, they’ve managed a misshapen and loosely packed snowball. Chara comes back into view, looking at Frisk in amusement. _That snowball sucks._

Frisk turns to look at the ghost, dropping their creation and standing up fully. The gloves are definitely helping with the cold, and they look expectantly at Chara. “What did you find?”

_A river, and a fishing pole in it. Of course, I had no way of pulling it up, but it looked stupid. There wasn’t even anyone there!_ It’s then that the ghost notices the gloves Frisk had acquired, and they raise an eyebrow. _Where’d you get that from?_

“That chest.”

_Well, at least you’re not gonna end up with frostbite on your fingers. Let’s go?_

Except, they’re immediately stopped when a monster hops into view, blocking the path. Frisk reels back but it does no good; the monster has pulled their SOUL out already and is shooting ice shaped disks in their direction. Frisk throws the blanket off their shoulder before ducking low avoid the wave, and Chara quickly says, _That’s a Snowdrake—they’re real big fans of jokes and stuff, so maybe if you laugh at one he’ll leave us alone._

“I have to be _alive_ to laugh, Chara,” Frisk reminds them, wincing when one of the sharp disks slices open their arm and through their shirt.

“*Better not ‘snow’ flake out!” He jokes, more ice disks flying at them in a zigzag pattern. Frisk twists around each of them, biting their tongue when the last one grazes their cheek. It’s not enough to lower their HP, thankfully, and Chara’s advice comes back to them.

Except, they don’t know _how_ to laugh. The most they can do is crack a smile, one that wouldn’t reach their eyes. But they had to try. “Hehe … I liked that one,” they attempt, hoping that the weak, forced chuckle had been good enough for him. The Snowdrake’s eyes widen, bouncing up and down as the disks continue to swirl around them.

“Haha! See? You’re laughing! Dad was wrong!” He laughs at himself, allowing Frisk to spare him, and they breathe out in relief when he hops back into the treeline. “I can joke! I can, I can!”

Left in his wake is some gold, and Frisk picks it up curiously as they wrap the blanket around themselves once more. There are three coins, one big with a 10 engraved and a two small with a 1 engraved. They pocket it in their pants pockets before continuing down the path, rubbing anxiously at the oozing wounds. The cuts had been fairly shallow, not as deep the ones Frisk had been giving themselves, but they somehow hurt even more. Perhaps it was the area that they’d been cut at.

_Too bad we don’t have any food,_ Chara says glumly. _Monster food would heal those cuts up real fast. Say, Frisk, you ever had a cinnabunny?_

“A what?”

_Cinnabunny! Those swirly cinnamon things with sweet sauce on top?_

Frisk looks at Chara oddly before informing them, “Those are called cinnamon buns.”

_Oh._ They frown, crossing their arms as they float beside Frisk. _Then what’s a cinnabunny? I heard they’re pretty good; from Snowdin._

Frisk shrugs. Up ahead they can see the silhouettes of the two skeleton brothers, and Frisk wraps the blanket even tighter around their shoulders. As they approach, they hear Papyrus’ voice, despite how far away they still happen to be.

“SO, SANS, AS I WAS SAYING ABOUT UNDYNE …” The sound of Frisk’s footsteps and the crunching snow cut him off mid-sentence, and he turns to look at Sans with wide eye sockets. Sans just looks right back, his usual grin on his face, and Papyrus looks at them once more, then back at Sans, before finally settling on Frisk. “OH MY GOD. IS THAT … A HUMAN!? THEY’RE SO SMALL!!”

“uhhh …” Sans’ eyes focus on something behind Frisk and they turn to look, finding a rock that they had sidestepped. “nah, bro. i think that’s a rock.”

Papyrus’ expression falls. “OH.”

“hey, what’s that in front of the rock?” Papyrus blinks, and suddenly his expression is one of excitement again.

“OH MY GOD!!” He leans over to whisper to Sans, but even his whisper is loud enough for Frisk and Chara to hear clearly, “I … I’M UNSURE WHAT THAT IS, IT DOES NOT LOOK LIKE ANY KIND OF MONSTER I’VE SEEN. IS IT A HUMAN?”

“yes.”

Chara floats over to examine the two brothers like she’d done to Sans earlier, humming in thought. _I wonder where the food they eat goes?_ Frisk frowns at Chara, who just laughs and returns to Frisk’s side. Papyrus continues to yell out in joy about how he captured a human and it takes all of their self-control to keep from bolting. At least Papyrus seems relatively passive, since he hasn’t made any attempts to battle them unlike the other monsters they’d encountered so far, but getting past the loud volume was a feat of its own.

_Haha, are you listening to this guy?_ Chara asks, laughing up a storm. _He’s completely freaking out, and he hasn’t even got you yet! He’s all excited over nothing!_

“… That’s not nice,” Frisk shoots back, thankful that Papyrus’ booming voice is enough to hide their own whisper to Chara. Said ghost sighs, attempting to stifle their laughter if only for Frisk’s benefit, and leans down so they’re practically level with Frisk.

“BUT NO, NO … THIS WON’T DO! I WANTED TO LOOK MY SUNDAY BEST! … OR AT LEAST, MY TUESDAY PRETTY GOOD. BUT INSTEAD. INSTEAD. I’M DRESSED CASUALLY!!!”

“don’t you only have one outfit, pap?” Sans questions. Papyrus huffs.

“YES, BUT I COULD HAVE STYLED MY HAIR …”

Frisk tilts their head as they listen to the conversation, taking note of Papyrus’ completely bald head. Chara has flown over to touch it, sighing when their hand just goes through as expected. _Man, I really wish I could touch stuff other than you. Imagine how he’d react if he felt someone touching him, but couldn’t see anyone!_

Frisk can't see the appeal of it.

“HUMAN!” Frisk jolts, not expecting Papyrus to address them. “PREPARE YOURSELF! FOR HIGH JINKS! FOR LOW JINKS! DANGERS! PUZZLES! CAPERS! JAPERS! BEING CAPTURED! AND OTHER SORTS OF FUN ACTIVITIES.”

Against their better judgement—every part of them is screaming not to say a word, to keep quiet in case Papyrus tried to kill them; to not speak, it isn’t _safe_ —Frisk finds themselves asking. “What kind of activities?”

“WHAT, YOU ASK?” Papyrus’ cave waves dramatically with a particularly cold gust of air that leaves Frisk trembling under their blanket. “WHY, PUZZLES OF COURSE! YOU WILL NOT PROGRESS THROUGH THIS AREA; I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL STOP YOU.” Frisk frowns, but doesn’t question him; Papyrus seems to have realized their confusion, however, because he continues his explanation, “ONCE YOU HAVE BEEN CAUGHT, YOU WILL BE DELIVERED TO THE CAPITAL! THEN … THEN!” he trails off, looking away sheepishly. “I’M NOT SURE WHAT’S NEXT.”

“IN _ANY_ CASE. PROCEED IF YOU DARE! NYEHEHEHE!” With that Papyrus takes off in a sprint, disappearing from their view in a matter of seconds. For a moment Chara is tempted to follow after him but one look at Frisk stops them in place. Yet _another_ monster that hadn’t even realized they were human—though, in Papyrus’ defence, and according to Sans, the skeleton has never seen what a human looks like.

Still, it stings. Frisk looks down at their mitten covered hands, blinking a few times, and hears San’s voice break the silence. “don’t sweat it, kid. pap’s harmless; wouldn't hurt a fly."

Frisk curls their small hands into fists, breathing out slowly to try and even out the sudden distress they were feeling. Toriel knew they were a human, but only because she'd taken care of so many. But Toriel—they'd _killed_ Toriel. Even though it was Chara, Chara had become a part of them.

Sans hadn't outright stated they weren't human; but the implications had been so clear. He knew, but didn't consider them one—and wasn't that a _joke_ of its own? Frisk had been called a monster by their neighbours, their classmates, their parents … and even a monster, whose goal was to kill them.

Maybe they should've seen it as a good thing.

"alright there bud?" Sans asks suddenly, stepping into their field of view. Frisk realizes they've been standing there for too long and quickly nod, hoping that none of the conflicted emotions had shown on their face. "really, don't sweat it. pap might look a bit scary, since you're such a squirt, but he's a real softy. i'll even keep an eyesocket out for ya', if it makes you feel any safer."

Frisk pulls the borrowed blanket further around their body, and Sans sighs. "c'mon, kid. there's _snow_ thin to be afraid of." He waits for a reaction; nothing. Chara is simmering angrily at the sidelines, half tempted to take over Frisk's body and shove the skeleton away from them, but in the end Frisk manages to pull together their courage and continue through the snow, completely ignoring Sans' pun.

An Icecap is chilling behind the nearby sentry station, though neither of them notices him until he struts out from behind the wooden station and looks at them. Frisk takes a step back, unsure if it plans to fight them or not, and his eye trails up to their head, "Where's your hat?"

Frisk stares at him, glancing at the giant icicle stuck to his head. "Wait a second … are you trying to STEAL my HAT!?"

And  _then_ it forces Frisk into battle.  _Are you kidding me?_ Chara gripes, nearby in case they have to take over for Frisk. They're doing a decent job, so far, but with the Icecap convinced they're trying to steal his hat his attacks have more put into them than they normally would. Frisk winces as one of the dagger-sharp ice spears cuts through their cheek, easily bringing them down to half health, and Chara nearly takes over then. Without adequate preparation for the cold, Frisk's movements have been slowed far too much; even the mittens and borrowed blanket aren't enough to make up for how underdressed they happen to be.

_Take off the blanket!_ Chara yells, as Frisk dodges through and around the icicles.  _You're gonna—_!

Frisk trips over the blanket and falls straight into the icicle. It impales them through the stomach, easily slicing through the sweater and their skin. They gasp and sputter in pain, hands grasping at the quickly reddening snow and tears blurring their eyes, before their soul finally shatters and puts them out of their misery. Chara feels themselves being dragged back to the last SAVE, and find that they're back at the split in the roads. Frisk is missing the mittens they'd acquired in the last SAVE, and their hand hovers over their stomach as if they could still feel the pain.

_Does it still hurt?_ Chara asked, slightly worried. Going back to a SAVE wasn't supposed to cause them to feel the pain from the last one, but Frisk's SOUL had already shown to be abnormal.  _Do you need to eat some candy?_

"It doesn't hurt …" Frisk whispers, crouching low so they can drape the blanket completely over their body. "I just …" they're silent for a long while, and Chara takes a seat beside them as they wait. "Maybe Toriel was right."

_What?_

"Toriel said that the monsters in the rest of the Underground were too strong; that they'd kill me, because I'm human. But some of them don't even see that I'm human, yet—" they close their eyes and press their forehead to their knees, "yet they do it anyways."

Chara is unsure how to respond, and Frisk has said all they planned to in the first place. Their hands are still bright red from the cold, but they seem to have given up on trying to warm them anymore. Not for the first time, Chara wishes they could interact with people and objects other than Frisk; if they could, they'd be able to take out all the monsters before they could harm Frisk. They'd be able to protect them.

Yet, Frisk hated violence; when Chara lashed out and killed Toriel, that singular time, they were sure Frisk would've been furious with them if they could feel such a strong emotion. There was absolutely no way they'd be OK with killing monsters, even if it was just to protect them.

And yet, with each death, Chara could see Frisk growing more and more tired. The little bits of light that had started coming back were dying once more, they were talking less, and, worst of all, although Frisk hadn't brought out the knife since the Ruins, Chara knew their fingers longed for the handle.

Frisk got up after a little while longer, stopping by the box to grab the same pair of mittens, before sighing. "Let's go."

They didn't bother paying attention to the scene with Papyrus and Sans, and didn't hang around long enough for Sans to talk to them; simply walked past him and kept their eyes trained on the sentry station in case the Icecap came back. Blissfully, it didn't. But other monsters came from the trees, some attacking and others just looking at them before heading on their way. They soon reached a sign that simply read, "ABSOLUTELY NO MOVING!!!", with a sentry station right by it. Frisk approached slowly, only to freeze when a thin dog peeked out from behind the station.

"… Did something move?" He asked suspiciously, squinting suspiciously at the area around him. Frisk didn't say a thing, making sure to stay as still as possible. "Was it my imagination? God, I hate only being able to see moving things … if someone is there, move! And if you're a HUMAN, I'll make sure you NEVER MOVE AGAIN."

Frisk barely has enough time to register they're in battle before a blue sword is swinging at their head. They very nearly dodge, only to remember the dog's words—and, despite the risk, they force the instinct down and squeeze their eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable spray of blood.

Except, it never comes.

"… I swore I heard something," he mutters, swinging again, except a different direction. Frisk still stays still, and share a worried look with Chara. Even trying to flee would expose themselves to the dog, unless the sword was his only way of seeing people, and that was sure to cause their death … again. "Must be too many dog treats …" He ducked back under the station, and Frisk was quick to run on their way, the blanket trailing after them like a cape. They notice the smoked dog biscuits as they go, their brow furrowing just slightly, and turn a corner of trees only to smash right into a fluffy jacket and be thrown backwards.

"whoa there!" Sans catches them by the blanket and collar of their shirt, hauling the gasping child back to their feet. "i know i'm a pretty cool guy, but there's no need to go  _fallin'_ for me; i'm a bit too old for you, kiddo." He takes notice of the way they're all but shrinking back from him and only then realizes he's still holding them by the shirt. "ah, sorry 'bout that kid." He releases them promptly and Frisk readjusts the blanket. "lookin' pretty frosty there."

Frisk realizes he's trying to do what their teacher and Toriel had done; get them to talk to him. But their mouth is glued shut, eyes to the floor, and Sans sighs loudly. Chara watches him for Frisk, but his posture is completely and utterly nonthreatening. "a bit banged up there, aren'tcha?" That brings their attention to him, and Sans grins, holding out a wrapped object to them. "c'mon, take it. it's just a cinnabunny."

_Cinnabunny!?_ Chara gasps, their eyes widening.  _Frisk, Frisk—please, can we take it? I want to try one so badly._

Frisk sighs, but gives into Chara's pleading. Still, there's a very obvious hesitance as they reach forward, their eyes trained on Sans' hand and ready to snatch their own hand away at any given moment; their fingers curl nervously, and Sans sighs. "alright, let's try it this way. hold out  _your_ hand."

They obey silently, and he places it right in their palm. It's still warm, even through the packaging, and Frisk swallows hard before saying, "Thank you." But they don't let Chara out, and make no moves to unwrap it, and Sans looks at them curiously. 

"gonna eat it, or stare at it?"

Frisk fingers the wrapper, peeling it away slightly at those words.  _You_ will  _let me have some, right Frisk?_ They nod, and tear off a small piece with their fingers before shoving it in their mouth. Immediately they're assaulted with a sweet, cinnamon taste; better than anything they could remember eating in their life. It warms their entire body and Frisk can feel their HP slowly rising. "good, ain't it? local delicacy." Sans watches them continue to pick at the bun, their fingers becoming slightly sticky with the frosting, and explains, "hey, i got something important for you; listen carefully, ok?" Frisk looks up at him, and Sans conjures a bone out of nowhere. Instinctively Frisk jerks backwards, expecting him to attack them, but Sans shakes his head. "relax, kiddo. i'm just showin' you something."

"my brother's got a special attack." In an instant the bone is blue, the same colour as the sword the dog had been swing at them had been, and they take a hesitant step forward so they're back where they started. "if you see a blue attack like this one, don't move and it won't hurt you."

He vanishes the bone back to wherever it came from, slipping his hand back into his pocket. "here's an easy way to remember; imagine a stop sign. when you see a stop sign, you stop. right?" Frisk nods. "now, imagine that stop sign is blue instead of red. simple, right?" His grin tilts wider when Frisk nods their head once more. "so, just remember; blue stop signs." He turns to look at the icy road ahead of them, then back down at Frisk, who hasn't moved a bit. "know how to skate, kid?"

Frisk shakes their head, finally allowing Chara to take over and try the cinnabunny. They resist the urge to grin at the taste, instead taking one large bite before wrapping what remains of the treat back up, putting it in their bag, and letting Frisk back out. Sans watches in amusement, unsure why the kid went from little nibbles to an actual bite, but shrugs it off. "there's lots've areas like this in the forest; this one's pretty safe, since you got trees everywhere, but there are others that you don't wanna go slipping off on."

"… Oh," Frisk replies softly, wishing they had a napkin of some kind to clean their fingers off with. Sans waits for them to continue, to say anything else, but when they don't he looks up and mutters about the lady once more.

"alright, kid. c'mon." he holds out a hand to them, knowing fully well Frisk won't take it. "i'll walk you through these. my bro will be real sad if he doesn't get to see his pretend human." He winks, and Frisk feels their chest creak in pain. Again—again. Even a monster couldn't see them as human. 

They were human, they were  _human._ Why couldn't anyone see them as human? Were they really so bad that—

"'s not gonna bite you, promise." Sans still has a bony hand extended, and Chara finally gives in to their frustration and takes over, snatching his hand in a tight grip that surprises the skeleton. They glare down at the ice, feeling their hatred for this particular monster growing when he chuckles and leads them across the frozen ground. As much as they loathe to admit it, even with Sans leading them they nearly fall several times; Chara can't imagine what would've happened if they were on their own. When they finally are across they rip their hand away from Sans, who shrugs and offers a, "you're welcome," before heading right back across the ice. Chara glares at his back before turning back on the path. There's a long dog dressed in armour hopping around in the snow and Chara stalks right past him, kicking up snow as they go. 

"I hate him. I  _hate him."_ They hiss, hearing the dog yelp and bounce after them. "I hate that stupid, smiley—fuck  _off!"_ They scream, turning around and kicking the dog hard. It whimpers, and Chara can feel Frisk's concern as they try and take back over. "Just leave us alone!"

_Chara, Chara—calm down, please._ The dog is still barking excitedly, trying to get their attention, and Chara grits their teeth hard, clenching their hands into fists.  _It seems to only want to play. Just … just pet it, or something. Maybe it'll go away._

Chara tries once more to leave, but the dog blocks their path, their tail wagging excitedly despite having been kicked so hard by them already. "Fine, I'll pet it. But if it doesn't go away—" they cut themselves off suddenly, an odd feeling growing in their chest. They blink a few times, looking down at their hands, and back at the dog, before reaching out and petting its head. It jumps so hard it headbutts them in the chin, running circles around Chara before dashing back where it came from. Chara simply stands there, and Frisk takes the opportunity to bleed back through. 

"Chara?" They ask warily, slightly concerned. Never before had they seen such anger from the ghost; so much that it had bordered on hatred. Frisk had felt it; Chara would've dusted the dog if not for whatever epiphany they seemed to have had at the last second. Not to mention the pure loathing they'd had for Sans, who hadn't really done much more than scare them at the bridge. "Are you alright?"

_Just leave me alone._ Frisk frowns, looking down at their snow-covered shoes, before reluctantly moving on. They send a silent prayer that no more monsters attack them, afraid of Chara's reaction to such an event if their previous violence was anything to go by. 

Of course, luck could never be on their side. It was only six steps from a SAVE spot when another Icecap came into view and immediately Frisk was on guard, already throwing off the blanket and bracing themselves for the battle. It didn't seem to be the same one as before, thankfully, but with all the sharp blades of ice coming at them Frisk had absolutely no clue what to do. Their clothes were getting shredded, there was blood dripping from their cheek and down their chin—and when their cold and sluggish body failed to move fast enough one sliced straight through their side, quickly staining the shirt and splattering blood across the snow.

Frisk doubled over in pain, their hand pressed to the wound. It wasn't superficial like their other ones, and Frisk could feel themselves tearing up from not just pain—but despair. Frustration. A range of emotions that they hadn't felt in forever, that they'd done their best to lock away.

Waking up six steps back, with their hand still hovering in the SAVE spot, was too much. Frisk sat down, hugging their knees to their chest and hiding their face in their knees. They didn't care that the Icecap could find them, didn't care that their side still burned from the pain of being sliced open despite the wound being erased away. "What do we do?" Frisk asked Chara, trembling hard. "I'm tired of dying. I—I didn't want this. I didn't want this when I jumped. I just wanted to disappear."

Chara stares at them silently, their arms crossed over their chest.  _I told you how I used a knife, back at the orphanage, to scare the older kids away. Right?_ Frisk looks up, and Chara meets their eyes firmly.  _They're just going to keep attacking us. If we can show them we're not helpless, that we're not going to just—just lay down and take it, then maybe they'll leave us alone._

"I can't threaten them like that."

_Then_ I'll  _do it. Give me your body, and I'll do it for you; you can rest, and relax, and … and do what I do all the time. You're the one who keeps getting hurt, Frisk._

Frisk looked conflicted. "What if you kill them?"

_Then they can't hurt us. And if we kill them all, then we'll learn all their attacks; right?_ Chara prompts, floating over to sit in front of Frisk.  _And then, once we know how to keep from getting hurt, we can RESET and do it how you want._

They sit there for a long while, not caring about how the cold snow has melted into their pants and the blanket, or the cold air that never seems to let up. Frisk was a bad person; they jumped so that no one would have to deal with them anymore. They jumped to save people the effort of taking care of someone like _them._

And now, they kept dying. And dying. And dying.

Frisk was so tired; all they wanted was to disappear.

"… Okay." Chara looks up at the soft voice, their eyes widening. Frisk doesn't meet their eyes, but something is shining in the depths of the dull brown that Chara recognizes. "Okay, Chara."

_Wait—really?_ Frisk nods and Chara floats up, offering a hand to the child below them.  _You're serious?_

Frisk nods silently. Chara sighs, feeling a weight lift off their chest.  _Okay. Then—then lets RESET. Okay?_ Frisk frowns, tilting their head in confusion at the suggestion, and Chara quickly clarifies,  _We died there, too. Not just to Toriel, but to monsters. We only survived because we kept running, and we only survived Toriel after killing her once. So if we RESET, we can learn all their attacks, so that when we RESET for real—we won't die at all. Not once._

"I …" Frisk twisted their hands into their sweater, a sick feeling festering in their gut. "Are you sure? We're already out. We should be fine."

_… Well, it's up to you, ultimately,_ Chara admits,  _but we can RESET it all away. Dying … it hurts. It hurts a lot, Frisk; you've felt it first hand._ Frisk nods, and Chara reaches out to take their hands in their own transparent ones.  _So let's just do it all once; just once. Okay? And then, once we know how everyone attacks, we can go back and not hurt anyone._

Frisk sighs, their bangs hanging over their eyes. Something feels off about the whole thing; but they can feel Chara, and there's nothing malicious in their idea or words. But the idea of it, of not just raising a weapon to someone but  _using it_ on someone doesn't feel right. 

But it wouldn't be them.

Frisk breathes in deeply, squaring their shoulders and grasping Chara's hands tightly. "How do I do it?"

* * *

 They wake up on a bed of golden flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear I'm going to get flak for the direction this is going in, so let me explain one thing clearly; this story is not a genocide run story. This is a story of healing, of two children in a bad situation, and how they try to cope with it. I have no plans of writing a whole genocide route; the majority of this story will be pacifist, or at least pacifist based. So please, understand that this upcoming portion is here for development. It will not be a significant amount of the word count.
> 
> Thanks for reading


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damage is inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that thing I said about genocide route not taking up a significant part of the story? well, here's your confirmation; it finishes off in the chapter after this, and then the real story begins.
> 
> personally, I think Undyne's (genocide) fight would be a lot more brutal than Sans'. In a realistic setting you wouldn't have a very good weapons, there'd be spears everywhere. And Undyne, I feel, after all that's been done, wouldn't be very kind. People write Sans as this viciously angry character whose fight reflects that, but I think in the first RESET and first genocide route, he'd be a lot less twitchy. In fact, I personally don't think he'd be very brutal about killing them, because he's trying to force them to give up. Constantly dying and realizing how impossible the situation is feels more appropriate in my eyes. Plus, their situation isn't exactly the one from the game.
> 
> Just my thoughts on the matter. Also, I know it's been confirmed that Sans is just really good at guessing but I'm going with the idea that he remembers, to an extent.

_Now I want to breathe_

_Because I cannot see what you can see so easily_

_-_

They meet Flowey in the room they’d first found him in, their red eyes glowing ominously in the dark, but he doesn’t seem to recognize the change. “Why’d you reset?” He sneers, rearing up in what Chara supposes is supposed to be a menacing fashion. “The outside world too _scaaary_ for you?”

Chara stamps their foot down just a second after Flowey sinks underground, popping up with a suspicious look. “ … What are you doing?”

“Get out of the way,” Chara orders. “Or I’ll rip your stem out and strangle you, you stupid weed.”

Flowey disappears without another word. _What do we do about Toriel?_ Frisk asks, unsure how they feel about the whole experience. Unlike Chara, Frisk doesn’t have a body; they’re stuck inside theirs, just without very much control. They can’t quite get used to the feeling of their body moving without them actually controlling it. Chara hasn’t completely cut them out, but they don’t need to; Frisk has no plans of trying to take their body back, not yet.

“If we hide out, then she’ll just chase us through the ruins.” Chara blows out an irritated breath, their footsteps ringing out across the stone walls. “So I guess we’ll let her find us, then go out and do what we have to.”

_Chara, what will we do about the door?_ It’s strange how much more emotion Frisk’s voice has when they’re not actually speaking; they actually sound considerably concerned. _Toriel said we can only open it with Boss magic._

Chara looks around the room, stepping towards the SAVE spot and sitting down on the lowest step. “We’ll just have to trick her, then,” they reply, crossing their arms over their knees and resting their chin on their forearms. “Do it the nice way, have her open it, then …” Chara rubs at their neck, unable to finish that sentence. The suggestion is cold and cruel, and their chest hurts at the very thought. But if they were to kill Toriel first, then they’d be trapped forever.

_Do we have to kill Toriel?_

They shrug. “I guess not … but she’d be all alone in here and once she figured that out, we’d be in hot water, Frisk.”

Frisk doesn’t respond, but Chara can tell they’re displeased with the whole thing.

Toriel finds them as expected.

The _process_ does not go as expected. She walks them through the puzzles they’d solved before, gives them a phone, and tells them to wait.

Chara proceeds to hunt down the Froggit they’d spared earlier and kick it to dust. The process repeats—Whismur, Froggit, Loox. Dust covers their shoes and is stuck under their nails and when they reach the path that leads them to Toriel’s house, Chara turns to grab the toy knife they’d picked up last time. They feel completely and utterly disgusting, and take a seat by the locked door so they can hide their head in their knees.

_It’s not too late to stop,_ Frisk offers, but Chara shakes their head. _You’re hurting._

“Who cares?” Chara snaps back. “You were hurting, too. These monsters … maybe these ones, in the Ruins, weren’t as cruel. But the ones outside—those ones …” they grip the toy knife hard, their knuckles whitening from the sheer amount of force, “they deserve this. And once they’ve paid, and we know how to be safe … _then_ they can live, Frisk. When we’ve learned how to survive.”

But, deep down, despite their words, Frisk can feel Chara’s conflicted emotions over their actions. They make the long trek back to the rock room and proceed to remove their shoes and socks, backpack, and toy knife before holding their breath and plunging into the cold water. Their head sinks under the surface, popping back up after a few seconds as the water fills with the dust of all the monsters they’d slain. Once they’re sure that all evidence of their actions has been washed away, Chara climbs out of the water, shivering as they wring out the excess water in their hair and clothes.

“Gross …” Chara mutters as they reluctantly pull their backpack, socks, and shoes back on. They’re still relatively damp, but pick up the knife and head back the way they’d come.

No monsters intercept their path.

“Think we got’em all?” Chara asks, taking a seat against the wall to check their SOUL, staring at the little red heart in what could almost be considered fondness. There were still those spindly and branching cracks, but neither of them knew what could be done about that, so there was no point in worrying. “Look, Frisk; look how much HP we have now.”

_Maybe we won’t die anymore, if we can take hits,_ Frisk muses. _But then again, I guess that doesn’t matter if our physical body dies first._ Chara nods before pulling the SOUL back into their chest and heading off to Toriel’s house.

“We’ll learn.”

Toriel questions their damp form, drying them with some kind of fire magic that would’ve caused Frisk to flinch; she gives them a room, puts them to bed, and they wake up to a large slice of pie. “Hey, Frisk. Did you like the pie last time?”

_… Yeah. Why?_

Chara pushes softly at their friend, trying to urge them back into control for a brief moment. “You can eat it.”

They stay for one night with Toriel; Chara removes all the unnecessary items from Frisk’s bag, pushing it all under the bed, before moving to the dresser and searching through it. They pull out a heavy winter coat that’s a size or two too large, throwing it onto the bed, and shove a thinner one into the now, mostly empty, bag. They sneak out to grab the knife next, and head back to bed.

Chara lets Frisk lower Toriel’s defences like last time, at their insistence, but as the battle is over Chara comes back out. Magic pours from her hands, running through the walls; powerful and rushing through their whole body, almost soothing even, and Chara tightens their grip on the knife as the door opens.

Toriel turns, and—

“Y … you … really h—ate me s-s—o much?” Toriel’s words are broken apart as she struggles to stay together while her SOUL crumbles apart. She crashes to her knees and Chara quickly moves around her fallen figure so that they’re on the other side of the door, unwilling to take the chance of it closing on them. The knife has never felt so heavy. “I … see … I w—asn’t protecting y—you.” Chara watches as the Ruin Master’s eyes close, her figure already beginning to turn to dust. “I was … pro—tecting … them.”

Chara closes their eyes as well, feeling their LV and HP rise drastically as their chest swirls with emotions. Was this how Frisk felt? Overwhelmed and confused—sick and lost with too many feelings and too little experience of using them?

_Chara? You’re crying._ Chara blinks rapidly, brushing the back of their hand against their eyes to wipe away the tears. _I’m sorry._

They shake their head, squaring their shoulders and sniffling. Their tears are dry and their red eyes are more pronounced as a result of their tears. “Just forget about it.”

They take a moment to pull on the heavy winter jacket, zipping it up to their chin, before taking off down the hall.

“Haha …” Flowey is already there, of course, and Chara is filled with rage once more. “I get it now. You’re not really human, are you?”

Chara can _feel_ Frisk flinch; the raw emotion that they exhibit at that single sentence leaves them completely infuriated. “You don’t know anything,” they hiss out, wanting nothing more than to rip Flowey to shreds.

Flowey smiles back. “I don’t? Well, I know you’re empty inside.” He’s smart enough to stay in his little spot, not daring to approach Chara when their anger is so potent, and his expression twists into something grotesque. “Just. Like. Me. In fact …”

“You’re Chara, aren’t you?”

Immediately they’re both on edge. “Oh, how do I know, you must be wondering?” Flowey laughs, swerving around in amusement. “I followed you, you know. Before you RESET.” He catches their surprise. “Didn’t I tell you? You’re not the only one with that little trick. But you … I heard you. ‘Chara, Chara, Chara’,” he mimics Frisk’s voice almost perfectly, matching his face with theirs, “But this time, it really _is_ you _,_ isn’t it, Chara?”

“… Why do _you_ care?” They ask warily.

Flowey lets his face go back to normal, his smile melting away into something more natural-looking. “Of course you wouldn’t remember, Chara … but even after so many years, we’re still inseparable.” He smiles; a regular one, this time, and Chara feels their stomach lurch uncomfortably. “Listen, I’ve got a plan. Wanna hear it?”

“Not really—”

“We’ll be powerful. Un _beatable_. Even more than you and that stolen SOUL of yours.” Frisk protests, but it does no good; Flowey has no way of hearing them and Chara isn’t about to let them back out with Flowey hanging around as he pleases. “So let’s destroy everything in this wretched world … everyone, everything. All these worthless memories—” he laughs again, baring a mouth full of sharp teeth, “Let’s dust them _all.”_

He leaves with a laugh. Chara stares at the little grass spot where he’d been, and Frisk prods at them gently. _Do you know him?_

Chara grits their teeth, feeling memories of old times press at the back of their mind. Their hatred for the flower grows. “No,” they mumble back, “I don’t know that thing.”

* * *

They meet Sans as usual, but don’t attempt to cooperate. Chara has one mission—to learn. They don’t care about the puzzles or feuds between two brothers, don’t care about Sans’ vaguely menacing and warning words—but his comment about their humanity nearly sends them over the edge—, don’t care that the real knife feels so, so, _so much better_ than that toy one they’d had. The Icecap that had killed Frisk twice falls easily, after Chara tested out its attacks. Frisk hasn’t been saying much, but they suppose that’s for the best; neither of the children feel up for conversation with how much dust is collecting on their body. “We’ll just RESET it away,” Chara mumbles, when they pull off the blue mittens and replace them with green. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Sans doesn’t offer to help them across the ice this time. He’s not even there, in fact; there’s no cinnabunny waiting for them, no warnings of blue stop signs and dangerous paths. And although there are a few close calls, Chara doesn’t die _once;_ with their HP as high as it is, and the way both Frisk and them have been observing, they learned the patterns. Frisk can feel the motions, how Chara twists their body and dodges whatever the monster happens to throw at them, and even tries it themselves, sometimes.

They’re more successful. Not perfect—not yet. But better.

* * *

They find an empty town, with houses deserted and a large Christmas tree in the middle. Chara knows that Papyrus is waiting for them on the edge of town, but it’s been a long journey. Hours of walking and fighting, of bearing the cold and slipping on ice, and they enter what used to be the inn and walk up the stairs.

“You sleep, okay Frisk?” Chara says, slipping their dusty shoes and jacket off. “When you’re in control, I can see, and I can’t sleep. So if that stupid—” they hiss out a breath, clutching the fabric of the blanket in their fist, “stupid smiling trash bag of a skeleton tries to hurt us, or even anyone else, I can take over.”

_Chara …_ Frisk starts to protest, only to be _shoved_ into control. They look down at their hands, feeling more detached and out of place than they’d ever felt before. “I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.”

Frisk can feel Chara sigh. _Might as well. We’re halfway there, right? Once we hit Hotlands, we’ll have reached the lab, and then we’ll know what we have to do._ They swallow hard and take a moment to compose themselves. Frisk knew how to regulate their emotions; they’d done it for years. Just because when Chara was in control they could feel more, didn’t mean they’d forgotten.

Didn’t mean they had to remember how to feel, because once they came back for real it wouldn’t be safe.

When they pull back the covers of the bed, they see Chara float down to the door. _I’ll just wait on the staircase. It’s a good vantage point,_ they point out, before phasing through the door.  Frisk watches them go, looking down at their lap. This—Chara’s suffering, Chara’s discomfort … this was all _their fault._ Their fault for being a burden, for being too weak; for being the very thing they’d hoped to eliminate by jumping.

They pick up the dusty knife from the nightstand, wiping it on the blanket to get rid of most of the dust caked on it, before rolling up their sleeve and sliding it across the skin.

They deserved this.

* * *

Chara, to their benefit, doesn’t do much more than sigh when they take back Frisk’s body and feel the sting of wounds on their arm. “At least it’s not my swinging arm,” they attempt to joke, but it’s hard to do much of anything. The self-loathing that Chara had once felt had become numbness, at some point—and maybe, as much as they would deny it, a bit of satisfaction.

Strangely enough, Papyrus _was_ waiting for them in the fog outside Snowdin. Chara crossed their arms, slightly baffled; had he stood there all night, waiting for them?

_He wants to stop us,_ Frisk says quietly. _So he likely waited in case we tried to leave in the middle of the night._

“Yeah … I get it.”

“HEY—QUIT MOVING WHILE I’M TALKING TO YOU.” Chara paused mid-step, and Papyrus continued to shout through the fog. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE A FEW THINGS TO SAY TO YOU.”

He cleared his throat somehow before beginning with, “FIRST: YOU’RE A FREAKING WEIRDO.” Chara twitched, but supposed it was better than being called a monster again. “NOT ONLY DO YOU HATE PUZZLES, BUT THE WAY YOU STUMBLE FROM PLACE TO PLACE, THE WAY YOUR HANDS ARE COVERED IN DUSTY POWDER …” He sighs. “IT FEELS YOU ARE GOING DOWN A DANGEROUS PATH.”

Chara knows they shouldn’t respond; it’ll only rile the skeleton up further. But they find the words coming, despite that thought. “What would you know?”

“ME?” Papyrus blinks, not expecting for them to respond to his speech. “WELL. I KNOW YOU ARE NOT, IN FACT, A MONSTER.” Chara’s arms fall to their side, the knife still clutched firmly in their grip. “AND THAT SOMETIMES, YOU LOOK VERY SAD AND TIRED.”

Chara doesn’t respond, instead glancing down at their shoes. They’d done their best to clean the dust off everything before leaving the Inn—the feeling of it sticking to their skin was too much; too painful to think about—but hadn’t been entirely successful, even with Frisk’s help.

“PERSONALLY … I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, SEE GREAT POTENTIAL WITHIN YOU. EVERYONE CAN BE A GREAT PERSON IF THEY TRY! AND ME, I HARDLY HAVE TO TRY. BUT YOU …” Papyrus nods. “YOU CAN BE CULTIVATED! GROWN! RAISED INTO A NEW HUMAN, ONE THAT KING ASGORE WILL BE HAPPY TO MEET. ALL IT TAKES IS GUIDANCE; SOMEONE TO KEEP YOU ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW.”

“… Like who, you?” Chara asks, frowning. For once, they wish it was Frisk in control; they’d be able to handle him better. Their whole thing was pacifying others and becoming as invisible as possible. Almost immediately they feel Frisk push, and push back—but so does Frisk.

They stumble at the sudden vertigo of having to forcefully get Chara out of control, taking a few steps forward to catch their balance. This, of course, leads to Papyrus yelling at them again—and Frisk feels that same discomfort and unease at the loud tone like they had in the previous RESET.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.

“I WILL TURN YOUR LIFE RIGHT AROUND, HUMAN; I PROMISE YOU. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL GUIDE YOU TO RIGHTNESS!”

Frisk doesn’t move, their eyes locked on the knife. They can see their reflection in it; it’s still just them, except scruffier. “AH. HAVE I CONVINCED YOU, HUMAN?” They look up and see Papyrus’ grin has grown. “IF SO, THEN COME! I OFFER YOU A HUG OF ACCEPTANCE; A PROMISE TO OUR NEW FRIENDSHIP.”

“Chara, I don’t want to do this,” Frisk whispers, realizing that they’re the one who’s going to have to kill the skeleton. They’ve barely taken a step, but Papyrus’ arms are already outstretched in preparation. Their gut twists with regret. “He’s not even trying to fight us. So can’t we just—”

_He’ll never let us go,_ Chara mumbles, letting Frisk push them back out, their voice barely above a whisper. “Just like Toriel … except, Papyrus wants to catch us and bring us to Asgore. We can't afford any shortcuts.” They slay him in one hit, somehow knocking his head right off. But even then—he’s still smiling. Still encouraging them, even after his body has disintegrated into dust, still believing in them—

Chara _screams._ They slam their foot into his skull watching it dust just like his body had, and throw the knife to the ground below them. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up— _shut up!”_

Frisk panics, trying to calm Chara down the best they can without a body, but the child is already knelt beside the knife, their hands fisted in their hair so tightly that it aches; they worry it might just get yanked out. “Why did he keep being kind? Why did he keep—” Chara chokes, practically tasting the dust in their mouth. “Everyone else, they tried to hurt us. They—they tried to hurt _you,_ Frisk.” Chara scrubs their eyes furiously, hiccuping when another bout of tears catches in their throat. “Papyrus—he wanted to catch us. He _wanted to so why was he so kind!?”_

Frisk is glad there’s no one else around; Chara’s screams seem to echo for miles, the grief and confusion so evident through their words. Frisk can’t say they disagree; their first RESET, every monster they encountered tried to kill them, and although they didn’t make it to Papyrus, they’re sure he would’ve, too.

But here—those monsters tried too. And Papyrus didn’t.

Frisk does the only thing they know how to; they take control back, letting the panic consume them, instead, and shut down completely.

They force the panic, the confusion; all the emotions that _hurt so badly_ into a little box, and then another box, which they then hide in the furthest corner of their mind. Their chest burns from a lack of air and Frisk wonders, for a second, if they’re going to die of asphyxiation.

Without direction connection to Frisk’s body, Chara can’t feel the panic nearly as strongly as Frisk had been able too; they watch as their friend struggles, gasping into the snow and wheezing for air, a sound that resembles something like blowing through a straw.

And then they grab the knife, roll their sleeve up, and _slice._

Chara nearly screams at the amount of blood that comes out and Frisk lays another, and another, and another, until their arm is a cascade of red. Blood drips freely into the dusty snow, completely unburdened, and Frisk makes sure to roll that sleeve up completely before taking the fallen knife and stumbling back to Snowdin.

It hurt—it hurt _so bad_ but by the time they’d reached the abandoned store, Frisk couldn’t feel the panic. They felt empty and numb, just like they should. Their emotions were put away, exactly where they belonged, and the panic was subdued. Chara quietly points out where they find the ointment and bandages and Frisk goes about the painful and meticulous process of cleaning away the blood and smearing on the ointment. The cuts are still bleeding as Frisk wraps them, with Chara holding their arm in place to make it easier.

They steal some of the remaining food under the counter, wash the knife in the snow, roll down the sleeve, and move on.

Frisk realizes that they’re not supposed to be out—if they’re attacked, nothing good would come from it. They can’t bring themselves to raise the blade to anyone but themselves; that’s _Chara’s_ job, because Frisk was a burden and a coward who only existed to cause trouble for others.

Waterfall is far warmer than Snowdin, and they shed the heavy winter coat for the thinner one they’d packed in before leaving the Ruins. It’s a painful process, moving their arm, and although Frisk has shoved some of the stolen food into their mouth it does little to help the healing process along. They dread seeing what their HP must be.

“Yo!” They’re greeted by an armless child monster, who hops around excitedly as he looks down the ravine. “Are you sneaking out, too? Undyne’s gonna be patrolling soon—she’s the coolest! I want to be just like her when I grow up.” The knife feels so, so, _so_ heavy. This monster—who Frisk would guess is only a year older than them—hasn’t bothered to attack or pull their SOUL out; they’re completely oblivious. “I’m Monster Kid, but call me MK for short. What about you?”

Frisk’s voice catches in their throat, unable to form the words to answer him. “Oh, you can’t speak?” He guesses. “That’s okay. There’s lots of others who can’t, either!” Frisk nods, passing the empty sentry station and making sure to SAVE, and hear MK call out from behind them—”Oh yeah! Don’t tell my parents I’m here,” followed by a childish laugh.

_Hey, Frisk._ Chara sounds exhausted, and a quick look at the ghost shows that their posture is heavy. _Remember when I told you that I can show you all the greatest places to hide in Waterfall?_

Frisk nods. “Why?”

Chara flies over to one of the waterfalls, motioning for Frisk to follow them. _Here, this way._ Frisk braces themselves for the inevitable cold water, before rushing through to the other side. Inside is a mostly bare room, with only some bioluminescent mushrooms to light the stone walls. It casts an odd shadow across their face, and Frisk takes a seat beside Chara, shivering slightly as their wet clothes cling to their skin.

_I used to hide here a lot,_ they explain, drawing their knees to their chest. _Before I died. Sometimes, I’d just get too angry and storm off—no one ever found this spot but me._

Frisk nods silently, not prying for any more information. If Chara wanted to share, they would—but Frisk was already enough of a problem without being nosey on top of it. “I used to hide under the stairs.”

Chara turns to look at them and Frisk tilts their head back to look at the ceiling, blinking slowly as they continue with their story. “Mother wouldn’t chase me, but Dad would—except, he was too big to get under.” A tiny, wry smile comes to their lips, but with the glare of the blue mushrooms on their brown eyes, they look even more empty than usual. “He would calm down eventually.”

They say nothing, hugging their legs tighter. Frisk tilts their head to look at them, before returning their gaze to the ceiling. Neither of them speak.

* * *

MK doesn’t seem to realize what they’re doing, because every time they turn around he’s either right behind them, or in the hallway in front of them. Chara hates it; they should eliminate him, get it over with. But neither they nor Frisk can muster up the courage or willpower to take out the little yellow monster. He’s completely fanatic about Undyne, ranting and raving about how cool she is and how badly he wants to meet her; it’s almost endearing, if not for the fact that Undyne was after their head—or rather, their SOUL.

He splashes in all the puddles when they walk through the rainy room, with Chara holding the umbrella for the both of them. They have the knife tucked dangerously between their pants and their back, hidden by the jacket. They only take it out when MK isn’t around—and they only slay the monsters when MK isn’t around.

“Look at the castle,” he mutters in awe. “Isn’t it beautiful? I’ve always wanted to go there, we were supposed to have a field trip—but instead, King Asgore came and visited us! We had to call him ‘Mr. Dreemur’ and he donated his flowers. He even showed us how to take care of them!” His tail swishes back and forth, before he says, “He also taught some lesson about responsibility. But man—imagine if it’d been UNDYNE who came!”

Chara sighs, but just nudges MK ahead. He follows without protest, lets them climb on their shoulders to get up the ledge, but when Chara offers to haul him up—or at least, try—he waves away the offer and says he’ll find his own way.

There’s a SAVE right before a set of bridges that seemingly float with no support. “Never seen those before,” Chara mumbles, moving across slowly only to freeze when a set of blue spears shoots up from the ground, nearly impaling them on the spot. They look down, spotting Undyne on the lower level, and promptly take off in a sprint.

She’s relentless with her attacks, and although Chara has shown to be nimble and fast even they get caught a couple of times. The bridges are a complete maze, with some leading to a dead-end or a complete drop-off and others veering back in the same direction they’d come from, and they stumble to their knees near the edge of one, not managing to catch themselves in time. Their knife skitters away, thankfully not off the edge, and Chara quickly grabs it and gets to their feet, panting the whole time. Undyne’s attacks have stopped, but they doubt she’s done with them.

_She’s coming,_ Frisk says suddenly. Chara’s unsure how they can tell, considering Chara can’t see anyone ahead of them, but it only takes a few seconds before the armoured soldier stomps into view.

Chara snarls and raises their blade. Undyne stares at them silently before a barrage of spears splits the bridge and sends them careening down.

* * *

Blissfully, thanks to the flowers that cushion their fall, the only injuries they sustain are a bump on their head and the pain in their arm flaring back to life. The knife is lost, somewhere in the water, and Chara simply lays there for a bit, staring up at the darkness above.

_I can take over, for a bit,_ Frisk offers, when Chara makes no attempts to move. They’re in the garbage dump, surrounded by trash and thrown out items. It’s never felt more fitting. _I know you’re tired._

Chara rolls over to their side, staring at the murky water only an arm’s length away. “And what if we’re attacked, Frisk? What then?”

Frisk takes a moment to respond, _Then …_ they’re silent once more and Chara sighs. _Then I’ll do it._

Their eyes spring open. “What?”

_I said I’ll do it. I’ll take care of them._ Frisk’s conflicted over the whole thing, but Chara can feel their Determination. _… There’s no need for you to take this burden on all alone. I can’t just keep watching._

“You never wanted to do this,” they point out. “You only agreed because—”

_Chara,_ Frisk interrupts, and they notice that, for once, the child doesn’t seem anxious about doing so, _It’s alright. I’ve watched enough, and seen enough, so … let me. Please._

Chara closes their eyes and lets themselves breathe for a few moments. Takes in the musky air and how clogged it feels; the bump on their head and the wounds on their arms. They feel the flowers beneath their fingers— _in their mouth down their throat—_

“Okay.” Chara relents. Frisk comes back into control, pushing themselves to their feet. They clench and unclench their hand a few times, a small tremor running down their back. _But if you need help—_

Frisk smiles. It’s fake, it’s worn out; but Chara’s behind them and doesn’t see it. “It’ll be fine.”

* * *

The first few kills are messy; without the real knife, they’re stuck with the toy one from the Ruins. It’s not nearly as effective, and Frisk isn’t even close to being as good at dodging as Chara. Still, the ghost sits back, their arms crossed over their chest as they watch Frisk slay a Shyren. They can see their hands shaking as they plunge them into the water to wash away the dust.

They take a detour up north, to a ghost-shaped house, and search through the cupboards for anything that might be good enough. Miraculously, for some reason, they find a kitchen knife in there. It’s brand new and wrapped in a ribbon, as if it'd been a gift of sorts, and Frisk ignores the guilt they feel as they unwrap it and place the toy knife back in their bag.

The last few monsters they find are Temmies, which are too busy spazzing and vibrating to realize what’s happening, and Frisk uses the trees and mushrooms to guide them through the dark forest.

_You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?_ Chara asks, when Frisk stops to hover near one of the mushrooms. _This forest goes on for a pretty long time._

They shake their head, bending down to press their finger against the round top of the mushroom. It lights up even further. “These are just … pretty.” It felt odd to admit to liking something; back on the surface, anything their mother heard or believed Frisk enjoyed would inevitably end up destroyed. Certain colour crayons, the book they’d borrowed from the library, animals—

They stood up and promptly continued on their way.

MK finding out that they were, in fact, a mass murderer was both a relief and a stab to both of them. He stood across from them on the bridge, trembling furiously as his tail swished back and forth. Frisk swallowed hard, their grip on the knife iron tight. They didn’t want to kill him. They didn’t want to but—

“Y-Yo, you’re not gonna attack me?” He asked, taking a few hesitant steps towards them. He was almost within arm’s distance. “Th-Then—then I can tell her! I can tell Undyne—”

Frisk squeezed their eyes shut and swung down the blade, hearing the yellow monster scream in fear.

But they don’t feel any EXP.

Frisk opens their eyes and takes a step back when they see Undyne dissolving in front of them, the wound practically slicing her in half. She kneels down in agony—says something to MK, who runs off with teary eyes. But Frisk can’t hear anything.

And then— _then_ —

They feel a SAVE appear, involuntarily triggering it, and know it’s too late to turn back.

* * *

Frisk dies a lot.

Chara dies a lot.

Undyne’s HP is like nothing they’ve faced before; even direct hits don’t take her down. Instead, they just cause her body to ooze from the wound, sometimes hitting their hand and other times splattering across the floor.

On what has to be the eighth time, Frisk is sobbing when they LOAD in. Undyne is dissolving, just like she’d been with each previous LOAD—but on the last one, their death had been particularly brutal.

Their eyes still burned, even though they hadn’t been stabbed out this time. Or at least, not yet.

“Who do you think you are?” Her voice is rougher and it only makes Frisk curl in on themselves, their hands pressed over their eyes in protection. The knife has fallen in front of them, completely abandoned. “Crying, like you have some right to be sad? After _all. you’ve. done?”_ The transformation is complete; their SOUL comes out, just as red as before, and Undyne snarls. “Monsters like you deserve no mercy.”

Frisk can’t stop their sobs—of phantom pain, of anguish over this hellish cycle of death they’d accidentally trapped themselves and Chara in; they’re not supposed to cry. Crying gets them _hurt._

Undyne drags them up by their shirt, but Frisk doesn’t make a sound; they’ve muffled their sobs, the only evidence being how harsh their chest is rising and falling and the tears staining their cheeks.

At least, this time, she kills them almost instantly.

* * *

Undyne isn’t always creative. Sometimes she’s sloppy and they get her HP down to half, or even three quarters. Other times, she comes at them with a brutal efficiency. The lower her HP, the more painful their deaths—on twelve, they’re pinned just like Christ had been as she impales them through the stomach, twisting her spear as Chara tries not to scream.

* * *

On fifteen, they get her even lower. It’s Frisk, this time; they haven’t cried since that first time, on their eighth attempt, even when the pain was enough to blind them; almost quite literally, considering their previous death. Undyne ends that run with a barrage of spears that surrounds them too quickly to dodge, but at least it’s quick.

* * *

On seventeen, they succeed.

Chara all but collapses on the bridge once Undyne is gone, once and for all, their hand immediately going for the SAVE that had made their life so miserable. It feels like they’ve aged a decade, with all their deaths and LOADS, all the pain. They crawl over to the nearby wall and curl up against it, the knife hidden protectively between their body. Frisk, for once, has no idea what to do; they can feel themselves shutting down, too, just like Chara. They can feel all the spears, all the injuries and cuts and wounds that Undyne had given them.

They close their eyes for a brief second and relive a death in an instant.

“It—it hurts.” Chara can barely speak with how sluggish their body feels. They could lay down and never get up, and it’d be okay. “Frisk … Frisk?”

Frisk takes over so Chara can escape the brunt of the pain, and across from them the ghost curls up. Something has changed—something deep inside of them has been cracked.

Their HP, which had been oh so much higher than when they first fell down to the Underground, plummets drastically; to half of what it had been before Undyne. Neither of them notices—but at this point, they weren’t sure they cared enough to.

* * *

The lab proves pointless—they’re forced to trek up to the castle. They take turns, coming out, but the process of going through Hotlands and the Core is something they barely register. But they don’t slow down, because if they stop, they remember; if they close their eyes too long, the memories come back, the _pain_ comes back.

It’s just muscle memory at this point, anyways. Chara noticed their HP drop at some point, but doesn’t even bother to mention it. Frisk hasn’t spoken since the battle ended.

Mettaton is a joke.

They find food and a large knife, as well as a familiar necklace in New Home. Despite their decree to keep moving, Chara finds themselves sitting crisscross in the room, their mouth moving before they can really think to stop themselves. “Hey, Frisk. Wanna hear a story?”

There’s something that vaguely resembles a nod from the child. Chara glances over at the bed across from them, running their finger across the knife. It’s so sharp, they could slit their own wrists in an instant; they could have taken Undyne out so, so, _so_ much faster if they’d only had this.

“Once upon a time, there was a kid. Their parents were assholes, and dropped them off at some understaffed and overpopulated orphanage in the heart of the city.” Their chest tightens as they go on, the tip of their thumb resting on the blade’s edge. “The other kids hated them, because they had freaky eyes and were rude and got angry too easily; ‘Who’d want some weird kid with demon eyes? It’s probably why their parents left them.’”

It’s at this point that Chara pulls away from Frisk’s body, leaving Frisk to stare at the ghost. Chara won’t meet their eyes, still locked on the knife hovering so, so close. _One day, that kid had enough. Enough of the stupid older kids, enough of the adults who looked the other way—so they stole some money and took a train to a mountain that was cursed with monsters_.

Frisk could tell where this was going and placed the knife down so they could reach out to touch Chara’s hand. _They didn’t go for any noble reason or to die, or anything like that. They just … were angry. They’d had enough, so they threw themselves down a hole in the mountain out of spite._ They finally reach out to grasp Frisk’s hand, their own hand shaking as they speak, _And they woke up on a bed of yellow flowers and found a new family._

_The end._ Chara’s voice drops with that, and Frisk is silent for a long while. _Pretty shitty story, huh?_

Frisk fingers the knife for a moment before putting it down so they can sit directly beside Chara. Red eyes meet brown and, for once, they’re both in sync; both are empty. Both are dead, though something resembling life seems to be returning to Chara’s and Frisk is relieved. At least their friend wouldn't have to experience it anymore—Chara was used to feeling, and Frisk would take the brunt of everything bad if they had to if it meant Chara could hold onto those good feelings. “That’s not how it ends.” Their voice is so quiet it’s barely a whisper, but the statement is nothing but firm.

Chara laughs. _Nope, it’s not. The kid got attached to this family, made friends with the son. Became best friends._ They reach out for the locket, watching their fingers slip right through the beautiful gold encasing. _And eventually, they decided they wanted to go back. They wanted to go back to the shitty orphanage and show them—the other kids wanted a demon, they wanted a_ monster,  _so they could have one for real this time._

_So they swallowed fistfuls of buttercups and died, and their friend—… no. Their brother took their SOUL, passed through the barrier, and went up to the surface._ Chara covers their face with their hands before finally finishing with, _And then he died._

Chara isn’t crying, but there’s something odd in their expression. Something lost. Frisk feels bad, that they’d forced them into this predicament; if they hadn’t been so weak, then Chara would have never proposed this as an option. Chara wouldn’t have experienced death, Chara wouldn’t have hurt, Chara wouldn’t have—

Frisk reaches out for the locket and holds it in their palm for a few seconds, rolling it between their fingers before unclasping the back and reaching out towards Chara. The ghost blinks, looking confused, and Frisk quickly clasps it once again behind their neck and holds it there. “It’s yours,” they say simply. “This belongs to you.”

Chara lets out a noise that’s something between a snort and a sob. _Frisk, you know I’m a ghost. It won’t stay._

“Then I’ll just hold it here.”

An indiscriminate amount of time passes, with Frisk’s arm extended to hold the clasp together behind Chara’s neck and Chara musing over their thoughts. But eventually, it comes time to go—and when Frisk reluctantly lowers their hand, rather than the necklace clattering to the ground as it should’ve, it stays.

They both blink.

_It’s transparent,_ Chara realizes, reaching out their own transparent hand to touch it. It doesn’t fall through. _How did you—?_

“It’s yours, after all. Maybe it just … knew it’s owner, and came back.” Frisk climbs to their feet, picking up the knife and leaving their old one on the bed. “Are you ready?”

Chara hesitates, but nods. Before they leave, Frisk catches them staring idly at a picture on the nightstand. It’s of Chara and a fuzzy goat monster.

* * *

Flowey talks them down the entire corridor, becoming more and more nonsensical as they go on. Chara has mostly tuned him out at this point, but it's when he stops them directly, popping up right before their feet hit the ground, that they finally listen.

And they speak.

“Flowey,” the start, and for once Chara doesn’t feel the burning hatred for the monster that had become of their brother. “Go away.”

Remarkably, he listens.

They exit out into a golden room, filled with columns and pillars, with windows that shine in so much light that the room feels alive. They SAVE, taking a deep breath, before walking onward. Once they fight Asgore, they can RESET. Once they know what his attacks do, how to avoid them, they can RESET—and this whole thing could be forgotten about.

Except, a singular monster stops them. Maybe, once, in a time long ago, Chara could’ve felt something like anger towards him. They’d certainly felt it before; but although Frisk had been doing their best, Chara still felt muted, to some extent.

“heya kid. you made it, huh?” Sans has his hands in his pockets as usual, but there’s something tight and sharp about his grin. “sucks. here i was, hoping you’d die along the way and give up.”

And that— _that_ reignites their anger. It's like someone had poured all their lost emotions back into them in a minute and Chara snarls, suddenly far more aware of the knife in their hand and how close Sans is. They check him as he talks—1HP. 1ATK. 1DEF.

The easiest monster.

“hm, didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to check people out without their permission?” Neither of them move, but Chara swears they see his eye flicker before they feel their own SOUL being checked. “looks like you’ve been pretty busy.” His brow twitches, but the shadows of the room make it hard to tell with what emotion. “so, listen. i got a question for you.”

“do you think even the worst person can change? that everyone can be a good person if they just try?” He leaves the question hanging in their air for a moment before shrugging. “that’s what pap’ thought. he saw the good in everyone—even things like you, that have no good inside them.”

Just like their first time through the Underground, before they’d RESET, Sans’ words are just harsh enough to cut through Frisk and leave them shaking, if only just slightly. The entire run had taken a run on the child—and although their emotional walls still stood, Frisk didn’t know if they _could_ feel anymore.

They felt Chara, and Chara felt emotions. Chara was filled with emotions; even when they’d been dulled following their experience in Hell with Undyne, even when they had tried to shut down their emotions like Frisk, they couldn’t. Frisk could still feel Chara’s emotions; even right now. The anger was so potent and heavy that it practically oozed into them themselves.

But they couldn’t feel their own. All they felt was _empty;_ except for those rare moments where grief and pain overtook them, where concern and fear dampened their barriers; where their self-hatred left them considering being the cause of one of their deaths.

And this was one of those and Chara _felt it._

“Take it back,” Chara snaps. “You know—”

“nothing?” He finishes, his grin tilting wider. “yeah. you sure love saying that, don’tcha kid? every time … it’s always the same thing.”

Chara takes a step forward and Sans chuckles “lemme ask you one more question. ready?” They were immediately on edge and felt a surge of magic fill the air. “ **Do you wanna have a bad time?”**

**“Because if you take one more step forward …”** The magic increased, almost strong enough for them to choke on, **“you’re REALLY not gonna like what happens next.”**

Although the magic is raw and powerful, unlike the soft and tamed, yet roaring magic that Toriel had displayed, it isn’t enough to dim their anger. It only fuels them forward.

“welp. sorry, lady. ’is why i never make promises.”

Chara barely has enough time to blink before their SOUL is out of their body and completely shattered. It happens so fast, they barely realize it did; it takes stumbling back to their SAVE for them to realize they’d been impaled so quickly and with so many bones that they’d been taken out in an instant.

It wasn’t going to bode well for them, but—

But they had to go forward, and their anger is enough to push them forward into a run—

“heya. you look pretty frustrated there; guess i’m pretty damn good at my job, aren’t i?” Chara stiffens, and he raises a brow at them. “huh. you look surprised, too.”

Chara’s prepared this time for the bones that shoot out of the ground, but not for the ones that fly at them from all directions of the room. They struggle to dodge, wincing when one slices straight through their cheek and saps their HP down, and scream when they feel something wrap around their SOUL and _yank._

They slam against the ceiling, the floor, the wall, the pillars—and when they finally are released, coughing and struggling to breathe through the broken ribs and snapped arm, Sans chuckles. “blue magic. pretty neat, isn’t it? pretty sure i told you ‘bout blue stop signs … right? well.” Chara glares, blood staining their teeth and lips a dark crimson as he looms overhead with a bone twirling in hand. “no one gives away all their tricks.”

The bone cuts through their skull and kills them instantly.

* * *

“again? don’t you hear how beautiful it is outside, kid?” Sans prompts, when they approach a third time. It’s Frisk, this time; Sans plays dirty, so they need all the eyes they can spare. “birds are singing. flowers are blooming …” his eye flashes again and Frisk stiffens, already ready to dodge. “oh, wait. **They’re all dead.”**

_Below!_ Frisk leaps to the right, rolling away from a barrage of bones that rain down from above in hopes of impaling them. They don’t want to attack Sans—they don’t want to kill. But they have to reach Asgore.

They swing—

They _miss._

Sans slams them into a wall and drops them into a pit of bones, which Frisk miraculously manages to avoid being killed in. “ **Kids like you should be burning in hell.”**

With Chara’s directions, they do a bit better than Chara themselves were able to, but Frisk is too hesitant with their swings and Sans monopolizes on it. He crushes their SOUL and the only blessing is that, unlike with Undyne, he doesn’t draw out their deaths. 

He remembers, though.

They miss. Miss. _Miss_. Frisk feels their throat tighten in frustration at their own weakness. If they can’t do it, Chara will have to; Chara will have to suffer directly. Chara will feel pain. Chara will—

They’re shoved _hard_ by said ghost and barely avoid a beam of … _something_ flying through the spot they’d just been in. The sudden movement surprises Sans enough for Frisk to jump to their feet and rush at him again, swinging and missing—

_For Chara._

It’s what drives them to their death, each time. Drives them a little bit further; gives them a little bit more speed and agility when they need it. But Sans is always faster. He started to sweat, somehow, during one of the LOADS, but Frisk was obliterated by his blasters almost immediately afterwards.

Chara orders them to give them control; to let them try. _You’ve died so many times—let_ me _! Maybe you need a break. Please, Frisk._

Frisk just shakes their head and pretends that the pain in their chest is an emotion.

* * *

Sans traps them, but doesn’t immediately kill them; instead, he flicks his wrist, sending a bone that hits their wrist hard enough for the knife to go flying. Frisk swallows hard when he crouches down across from them, a fair distance from the bone cage he’d trapped them in. “so tell me, kid. **why?”**

Frisk says nothing. Chara hates Sans—they can feel their hatred rushing through their veins like the roar of a waterfall—but, personally, Frisk feels nothing for the skeleton except, perhaps, acceptance. They knew why he was killing them. Not for their SOUL, not for revenge; though, perhaps, that may have been a small factor, but to keep them out of the castle and away from the King.

In a matter of days, Frisk and Chara had nearly wiped out the entire Underground, or at least, enough of it to mark them as a mass murderer. It didn’t matter that they’d been killed first. It didn’t matter that Frisk had been forced into a position they never wanted and never asked for; they were a threat, and threats had to be eliminated. Studied.

“not gonna toss me a _bone_ , huh?” Sans sighs and they come to at their save once more. Strangely, he never comes to them—only lets them come to him. Perhaps, if they waited long enough, he would give up and leave.

Frisk sits down by the SAVE and folds their arms over their knees so they can rest their chin on it. Chara watches silently, dividing their attention between the corridor and Frisk, and nearly miss the words that they say. “I really am a monster, aren’t I, Chara?”

_What? No, you’re not. What are you talking about?_ Chara floats down lower and levels them with a strange look. _You’re not a monster._

Frisk smiles and Chara looks away. Their own emptiness had faded, gradually, the further they went from Hell, as if Frisk had somehow absorbed all of it into themselves, and not for the first time Chara finds themselves regretful over their suggestion. They’d learned a lot, but a lot of damage had been done in return and Chara didn’t know if it could be undone. Frisk was proof of that.

“I’m just like Flowey … I can’t feel anything.” Brown eyes stared out into nothing, their hair falling over their arms as the golden light shined through the windows. “All I feel is emptiness. Like there’s a hole where my emotions should be. The only times I can feel … “ they close their eyes in exhaustion, “is when you’re feeling, Chara. You feel for the both of us. You’re full, and I’m empty—”

_That’s bullshit._ Chara gives up on the corridor. If Sans was planning to catch them by surprise, he’d have already done so—plus, Frisk was defenceless. The knife was at their feet and their shoulders were slouched in a way that screamed defeat; Frisk was helpless. _I’ve felt_ you _feel plenty of times. Before this, and—_ their voice stutters to a pause, _and during this. You can feel, too._

“Not anymore,” they whisper. “Not for … I don’t know how long,” they admit. “But not anymore.”

Frisk picks up the knife at that, and heads on towards Sans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I know I say this after each chapter but PLEASE let me know what you think. Uploading this chapter made me more anxious than the last one, because this wasn't the direction that I intended their genocide route to go. It just kind of happened. And it makes sense; for a normal child a genocide run would be taxing mentally and physically, with Undyne killing them constantly and their own killing of the monsters. But for kids like Frisk and Chara, who are already damaged and unhinged, the consequences would be disastrous. More so for Frisk, but Chara as well.
> 
> As stated in the top note, the genocide route wraps up next chapter. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments below. I'm scared of negative reactions (especially because of how I made everything so brief and only highlighted specific portions; but the whole point of them doing genocide was for the plot, not for funsies) but if that's what I get, that's what I get.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you fix something that's been almost irrevocably damaged?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew art of the Chara and Frisk of this story: https://66.media.tumblr.com/c5bb98d2a8be9e946ec9c901e09482c4/tumblr_pima9bwYfz1s2s0r5o1_1280.png for Chara and https://66.media.tumblr.com/dd7362692df8906b3ebf43de77baa44a/tumblr_pima9bwYfz1s2s0r5o2_500.png for Frisk
> 
> Reminder that everyone has their own interpretations for characters and it's fine if you don't like it; as well as that I will never just put something in because I think it's fun or quirky to do so. There's always a reason.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way: A few notes before going into this chapter.  
> 1\. Anomaly- I know it's used in the game because the player LOADs and RESETs as they wish, so there would be a lot of jumps. Even though Frisk has only RESET once, they've had to LOAD many times, so I still believe he'd consider them an anomaly; he uses it as a classification. It also ties into how unhinged Frisk is, compared to your usual expectations for a child.  
> 2\. I don't think Sans is intrinsically nice; in the game, he doesn't really do much of anything to help out even though he told Toriel he would, he threatens (I use this term lightly) the player at the MTT Resort, but I do think by the end of the pacifist route he can be considered a pal and would see the player as one too. However, that's if you do everything right. I personally believe he was studying the player (Frisk), and through that came to enjoy them, but it didn't start out that way. So that's the route I'm taking with him. He has no reason to be kind beyond the 'I'm an adult, so I'll treat you properly' kind that you should have towards kids. And even then, he's a bit mean. It's not how I plan for him to be the entire story, but at this point, he is. But while I don't think he's intrinsically nice, I don't see him as a cruel character either. He's complex, and I'm hoping to display and write him in a way that conveys that.  
> 3\. POV jumps around quite a bit from here on out, it's always 3rd person but the actual character we see it through changes around depending on what's necessary. 
> 
> Beyond that: I do hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and thanks to all the kind comments left on the last chapter; I was completely stunned, it really made my day seeing so many people enjoyed something that I was so unsure about. So thank you so much to everyone! This chapter is a day early, since there's some personal family stuff going on and I'm unlikely to have time to update anytime in the next few days. So enjoy!

_Leave me in peace_

_Lost underneath_

_Deep in my structure, I feel a rupture_

_-_

Frisk isn’t sure how it keeps happening; they dodge, they swing, they fail, they fall—they’re hit, thrown to the floor, and then trapped in a cage of bones with their knife knocked out of their hands. It’s the third time it’s happened now and each time has been the same.

This time, however, is not.

“so, i’m kinda sick of asking you the same question and gettin’ no answer,” Sans admits, still standing with his hands in his pockets. “so instead, i’m gonna ask you a new one, and you’re gonna answer it. got it?”

Frisk says nothing and Sans chuckles. Chara yanks at the cage to no avail; offers to try and escape, but is rejected silently by Frisk, who has an ironclad grip on their body now. They won’t let Chara hurt anymore. Frisk—Frisk was the monster, they could suffer. They could hurt; they existed to make people miserable so it was the _least they could do—_

“how old are you, kid. eight? nine?” He scuffs his shoe against the gold floor and watches the child curl in on themselves. It’s been a strange progression, throughout the countless deaths he’s caused them. At first, they were angry; then, determined. And now—

Now, they seemed to have given up entirely, yet continued fighting for whatever reason.

“mmkay, guess you’re not gonna answer?” He finally takes his place across from them, picking up the knife he’d knocked away from them. “thing’s pretty damn sharp. how many monsters did you cut down with this?”

He waves it to enunciate his point and for some reason, it’s the one question that has Frisk answering, “None.”

Their voice is still so, so quiet and empty. Sans can’t get them to look up, but he’s seen glimpses throughout their battles and the past. They weren’t nearly this dull when he’d first encountered them on the bridge, before they’d RESET the entire world and went on a murder spree, and sometimes, as he watched them go from place to place, he would notice their eyes weren’t brown or dull anymore; he’d seen it in the first few battles as well. Granted, he didn’t check up on them much, but that was something else entirely.

But now, it looked as if someone had plucked a corpse's eyes out and stuck them into this child’s eye sockets. Sans knew he should kill the kid, but they didn’t put up any kind of fight once they were caged—they just … _gave up,_ until he inevitably killed them off and started the process over again.

The anomaly was not acting as predicted.

“none, huh? well, lemme tell you this, kid.” The pinpricks of his eyes disappear, leaving a gaping darkness in their wake. **“I don’t like liars.”**

It’s meant to scare them. He’d seen just how terrified the kid had been just before they RESET, though he did curse himself for not noticing sooner; maybe, if he had, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened. If he’d been a bit softer and helped them more, like he was supposed to, noticed something was wrong at the start, rather than at the end—maybe they wouldn’t have done it.

But when Frisk looked up they just blinked slowly, as if they were struggling to process the sight in front of them. “I’m not lying,” they reply. “Those were … different knives.”

They still had the toy knife; if they wanted to, they could _try_ but—

_You’re not gonna do it, are you?_ Chara asks, looking at the backpack curiously. It wouldn’t matter if they tried, unless Frisk tried to throw it through the gaps in the bones and hit him, but at least they wouldn’t be defenceless. _Frisk, just let me. Please; I’m sick and tired of seeing him kill you! You’re hurting because of this—this piece of shit._

“different knives, huh … how many knives could a kid like you need?” Sans tosses it behind him, hearing it clatter somewhere down the corridor. Chara is tempted to fly after it but, considering they couldn’t pick it up, it would just be a waste. More than ever before, they wished they could interact with more than just Frisk. If they could just grab the knife and catch Sans from behind, this would all be over. But, then again, they didn’t want to leave Frisk alone with him. “knives aren’t for playing.”

Frisk closed their eyes and drew their knees further to their chest, their arms wrapped protectively around their legs, and Sans knew that was all he’d get out of them this time. He made sure the bone went straight through the back of their skull, ensuring their death to be painless.

Maybe they didn’t deserve it, after all they’d done. But Sans wasn’t one for meaningless suffering, no matter if it was the monster who’d murdered his little brother.

Perhaps it was in Papyrus’ memory that he kept the deaths as merciful as possible.

* * *

Frisk has lost track of how many times they’ve LOADED now. “You know, Chara,” they mumble, beginning the dreaded trek down the corridor for the umpteenth time, “you can leave. It’s alright.”

_You’re stupid if you think I’m going to leave you with the trash bag,_ Chara shoots back. Frisk looks at them strangely, the same way they’d looked at Sans when he’d put out the lights of his eyes. _What?_

“He’s being merciful,” Frisk admits, their steps painfully slow. As many times as they tell themselves, _For Chara; this is For Chara_ it doesn’t make walking to their execution any easier. Frisk knows they’ll never beat Sans simply because, while they don’t want Chara to hurt, they don’t want to hurt anyone else, either. They’d done it out of necessity before, to keep Chara from taking the brunt of it all, but this was a different matter entirely; hopeless, because they’re a coward. “If you won’t leave, then … can you wait by the SAVE? Or back in the hall?”

Chara frowns. _Why would I do that? Do you—not want me around, or something?_

Frisk swallows dryly, struggling to get the words out. “I just don’t want you to watch me die again.”

Chara stares at Frisk, who continues their slow walk towards where they know Sans is waiting. They think back to the countless times Frisk has died, how many times they’d watched their friend be thrown around like a rag doll or impaled through the chest, blood oozing and staining the beautiful yellow that reminded them of buttercups, and— _Only this once,_ they agree. _Not again._

“ … Thank you, Chara.”

Frisk felt their chest tightening as they approached. Each step was harder, and their grip on the knife felt so much more unsteady without Chara around. But they had no intentions of being trapped, this time, which meant their death wouldn’t be nearly as peaceful as Sans had been allowing it to be the last few times.

“back for more, huh?” Sans sighs. “kid, give up already. lord knows i did a long time ago; you’re not winnin’ this.”

“I know.” Sans has to strain to hear them, even with the silence of the hall. “I know I can’t win.”

His smile falters slightly. “then why the hell are you still going?”

Frisk goes to answer, for whatever reason, only to shudder when they feel it. The pain from before—from the first run, before the RESET. A pain they hadn’t felt in what seemed to be an eternity, and—

They were on the floor in an instant, their hand clawing at the fabric surrounding their heart, and Sans nearly jerks in surprise. They don’t cry or scream, despite the immense and incredible pain forming in their body and he wonders, for a moment, if it’s a trick.

When the kid starts foaming at the mouth, he realizes that, _no, it is not a trick._

Sans yanks their SOUL from their chest without a second thought and nearly chokes at the sight. The little heart, one he’s seen too many times to remember, was being ripped clean in half. He could see their HP dwindling drastically, past one and into the decimals, closer and closer to zero—

He could see it tearing, shredding down the middle, and suddenly Frisk _screamed_. It was an ugly and guttural sound, their vocal cords straining from the unusual and uncommon volume, and Sans panics.

He kills them right before it rips clean in half.

* * *

Frisk is coughing when they LOAD, their vision blurry and hands shaking from the pure agony of what they’d just felt. It was worse than any time in the past and enough to freeze them in place. Chara looks confused, and quickly lowers themselves to Frisk’s level in concern, but there’s anger in their voice. _Are you okay? What did he do?_

Frisk shakes their head, grasping at their chest instead. Chara frowns, only to realize what they mean a moment later. _The—the pain? It came back?_ Frisk nods, and Chara crosses their arms, concern written across their face. _But why?_

There’s no response from the child.

* * *

“so, kid.” Sans is sweating as they approach, his permanent grin tilted oddly. “you, uh. you know—your SOUL isn’t supposed to go doing that, right?”

_What is he talking about?_ Chara questions, looking down at Frisk who shrugs. _What did your SOUL do?_

“ … right then. seems you don’t know, either.” He sighs, leans back with his hands in his pocket as per usual. “well, whatever. you gonna do anything?”

Frisk can still feel their chest pulsating from the pain, bad enough that even the walk there had been almost agonizing. “mmkay, seems like that’s a no. well, that’s fine; just makes my job a whole lot easier.”

* * *

Frisk doesn’t hesitate when they come back. They leap off the bones he sends towards them, swinging with all the force they can muster. The pain had invigorated them; they couldn’t sit through it again. Before, they’d resigned themselves to the inevitability of death at Sans’ hands but now—now, they had to RESET and go to the lab, in Hotlands. They couldn’t go through the pain again.

They couldn’t—they _wouldn’t._

Sans seems to realize that something has changed, because his attacks become more aggressive as well. Chara’s constantly shouting something, whether its bones coming from behind or his blasters circling overhead, and Frisk can feel the sweat pouring off them as their body struggles with exertion. Their legs burn from the effort and their arm aches; the wounds they’ve acquired burn, but Frisk knows they can’t slow down.

Sans is sweating, too—and suddenly he catches their SOUL and grips hard, completely freezing them in place. Frisk struggles for air so hard that they cough, their cheeks flushed as they dangle helplessly in the air. Chara hovers on the sidelines, waiting for whatever trick Sans has up his sleeve, but none comes.

“you … really like swingin’ that thing around, huh?” He manages, through his own gasps. Why and how he’s able to breathe, Frisk isn’t sure, but they’re too busy trying to catch their own breath to bother thinking over the question. “listen,” he starts, after a brief pause. “i know you didn’t answer me before, but.” He stops again, his fingers twitching. Frisk can feel just how precarious of a situation they’re in. “do you think the worst people can change? before, i guess i’d say no. but … there’s somethin’ in there.” Sans approaches slowly, with Frisk still completely frozen in place, until he’s right across from them. “maybe you’re not the monster you seem to be.”

“Yes I am,” Frisk answers back, and for once the words don’t hurt. Back on the surface, they’d hated it. Before this, it’d hurt. But now?

Now, they really were a monster.

“I am a monster, because—I can’t feel anything.” Frisk isn’t sure why they’re talking so freely; it won’t matter in the end. All they’re doing is exposing their vulnerabilities to him, but …

But they’re so tired.

“It just feels like there’s a black hole where everything is supposed to be.” It’s almost an exact copy of the conversation they’d had with Chara not too long ago, and Sans watches them without even a twitch to show how he feels about it. “And … I don’t know where they all went. So I must be a monster, because I can’t feel.”

Sans heaves out a great sigh and, after a long moment of thought, releases his grip on their SOUL. Frisk falls unceremoniously to the ground, the knife clattering against the tile, and looks up at the skeleton. It would be so _easy_ to just reach out and swing—

Sans easily kicks the knife away. “you know, that’s a bit of an insult to us monsters. we feel.” He doesn’t crouch to their level; he continues to stand, imposing and shadowed over their fallen form. Frisk knows they’re completely at his mercy. “but, nah. you’re no monster. hate to say it, but i was a bit off on my judgement. now and then, even if it’d only been a joke before.”

His eye flickers for the first time in a while and Frisk finds themselves entranced by it. They can feel how the room stirs with magic while it flickers and twitches sporadically; far more potent and unrestrained than Toriel’s, whose felt soft and comforting. “there’s something good inside you. something that, at one point, made you want to be good, or even made you good.”

_‘I don’t want to be bad I’m not bad I’m sorry, I’m sorry for being a burden I’m sorry I made you miserable I’m so sorry sorry sorrysorry—’_

Sans finally kneels, offering a hand to Frisk. Chara hasn’t spoken a word during the entire thing and even now they’re silent. Frisk half expected them to be telling them to attack; to take advantage of what could be a clear win.

They look up at Sans and he meets their eyes, the magic flickering with more wild energy as he forces himself to hold their gaze. “c’mon, let’s end this; you have to be tired. i know i am.” He chuckles and Frisk stares at the hand, feeling an old and uncomfortable fear stirring to life. “i’ll make it quick, promise; cross my SOUL.”

Frisk trembles, feeling the fear bursting through their chest. The emotion is so raw it hurts and they gasp for air, their hand shaking from its spot against the floor. Sans notices. “scared? i know kid, so let’s just get it over with; for the both of us.”

With that he reaches down to take their hand—it’s so, so much smaller than his and Frisk doesn’t know how to feel about the cold phalanges holding onto their hand so steadily. They squeeze their eyes shut, entire body stiff, and the last thing they hear is Sans murmuring, “just think of it like ripping off a band-aid.”

* * *

Frisk doesn’t LOAD this time. They find themselves in the darkness, neither Chara nor Sans anywhere to be seen. True to his word, the bone that had pierced through their SOUL had done a good job of ending their life quickly, even if there had been that split moment of agony.

Frisk hugs themselves and briefly considers staying here, forever. No one would suffer from them, they’d stop being a burden—Chara wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.

But Chara wasn’t around; for all they knew, the ghost could be stuck somewhere. Stuck in pain, stuck without anyone else—

Frisk swallows their fear and RESETS for the second time.

* * *

_It’s okay. I’m not mad,_ are the first words Chara says to Frisk, when they wake up in the golden flowers of the Ruins. _Even if we didn’t get to Asgore, we learned … enough. Everything is gonna be alright now, Frisk._

Frisk nods, but can’t bring themselves to move. Chara doesn’t try to move them, and the two children lay there until Toriel comes along and finds them.

* * *

Toriel, evidently, doesn’t have the slightest clue how to deal with Frisk’s despondent state, so Chara does the best they can of playing the part. They try to breathe more life into Frisk’s actions, but not so much that it’s inconsistent with when Frisk themselves is in their body, but it doesn’t do much.

Unlike either of their two runs, they don’t attempt to leave the Ruins. They allow Toriel to fuss and worry, mumbling about what she should do and if she should go and ask some other monster in the Ruins, and stare up at the ceiling of the room.

_Getting out of here a third time is gonna be a pain,_ Chara says to Frisk, swinging their legs idly, even though they’re unsure if they’ll even leave at all. Frisk has themselves wrapped in the blankets of the bed, having been listening to Chara’s idle chatter for the better part of ten minutes. _But we can do it. We pacified her twice, right? So just one more time._

Frisk nods, and wishes for a knife.

Perhaps it would fix this hole.

* * *

Chara seems to have given into the inevitable fate of Frisk stealing a knife from Toriel’s kitchen and using it on themselves. At first, they want to protest; but after Frisk has done it and tucked away the knife, pressing down on the wound to stem the blood flow, they seemed more … alive.

So Chara doesn’t protest, as much as they want to.

* * *

_Flowey is my brother,_ Chara tells them out of the blue one day. Frisk tilts their head at the ghost, and Chara sighs heavily. _Yeah, right? I realized it a while ago. I guess that’s why I was so mad—because Asriel, my brother, my best friend … he was so good. He was a big crybaby who got upset when other people were sad, and never wanted to hurt anyone. But Flowey is different. Something happened, and—and I don’t know what._

“He was explaining, back when you dismissed him.” Frisk huddles closer in their blankets, staring at the cup of hot chocolate resting on the ground. Toriel had brought it to them just awhile ago, but Frisk hasn’t been able to bring themselves to drink it. They feel too dirty and undeserving of something so sweet—it’s better to give it to Chara. “But I don’t remember, either.”

Chara sighs, fiddling with the locket that Frisk had managed to get on them. It felt like years since that moment in New Home; perhaps, with all the times they’d died, it had been. Chara doubted it, but regardless of how long it had actually been it felt like an eternity. _I wonder where he is. He was so eager to please us—_ me. _It was like he saw me as his … saviour, or something._ They allow Frisk to hand over control to them, picking up the hot chocolate and taking a large drink. It’s still warm, but not such that it burns their tongue. “I wish I could know more.”

* * *

Somehow, a month passes in the Ruins. Chara’s done their best to keep Frisk from falling completely, but the only thing that’s changed since the day Toriel found them is that they’re willing to walk around and go somewhere other than their room, provided it’s not outside Toriel’s house, and that they’re no longer completely mute. Perhaps the last one could be considered a change of some sort, but Chara wasn’t sure. Sometimes, they could feel the emotions that Frisk refused to accept existed tugging at their consciousness, but Frisk either dismissed it as Chara's, or shut it down completely.

“I know we should go soon,” Frisk admits. They’re seated in front of the fireplace and Chara is curled up in Toriel’s chair in return; Toriel is off buying groceries or something of the sorts, believing Frisk to be fast asleep in bed. “I’m sorry for keeping us.”

_It’s not like it’s your fault,_ Chara replies. _I don’t want to face that trash bag, either. He’s too unpredictable; what if we step out and he kills us on sight?_

Frisk blinks, tilting their head back to gaze at the ceiling. “Then I guess we’d just die.”

* * *

Frisk is dead silent when they sleep, but Chara’s connected to them to a point now where they can tell whether their friend is dreaming or not. Sometimes the dreams are peaceful, and Chara feels their shoulders relax knowing Frisk is at least at peace for once. But other times, they’re fearful; anxious. Scared.

Chara’s never felt them this afraid while sleeping.

It bleeds into their movements, the way they toss and turn under the covers and how their legs and arms kick. Their breathing is laboured, terrified, and then—

Frisk is _screaming,_ their fingers clawing at the skin around their eyes as they attempt to protect them from whatever unseen force had been coming. They silence themselves immediately, but Chara knows it was enough to wake Toriel.

In the seconds it takes Toriel to enter their room Frisk has silenced their panicked breaths, even if it’s still noticeable from how they’re shaking, and firmly covered their eyes with their hands. Their mouth forms unspoken and silent words, desperate pleas and begging for mercy, and thankfully Toriel is wise enough not to touch Frisk.

Instead, she lets out some magic. Not nearly as much as when she has to open the door, but enough to wash the room with a sense of calmness and peace that helps ease their panic. “Frisk,” Toriel starts softly, when they’ve finally calmed their shaking. “May I touch you, my child?”

Frisk, who hasn’t yet uncovered their eyes, shakes their head.

* * *

They don’t talk about it. Chara knows exactly what the nightmare was of, and Toriel is too afraid of triggering something in Frisk that could completely destroy the fragile psych they’d thrown together to ask.

* * *

“I think I have to go.” Toriel looks up at the soft statement and finds Frisk at the doorway, with a heavy winter jacket over their sweater and their backpack on. “I think … I _need_ to go.”

There’s something else they want to say, but the words just won’t come. Chara hovers anxiously, not wanting to actually fight Toriel again; after over a month of living with the woman, they’ve come to remember why they were so fond of her back when they were alive. She was still so warm, even if Frisk was too jumpy and uncomfortable to accept any form of contact. Chara was allowed those moments and they relished in the comfort of a hug they hadn’t felt in an eternity. Even if Toriel didn’t know that her child was there, possessing Frisk’s body when they couldn’t keep going, Chara cherished the moments anyways.

So, no. Chara didn’t want to fight Toriel. They hadn’t even picked up the toy knife this time around; the only weapon on hand was for Frisk to use on themselves and even if it wasn’t, the disaster of their last attempt made Chara never want to wield a weapon again.

Toriel sighs, gazing down at the book open in her lap. “I … have been waiting for this moment to come,” she admits, removing the reading glasses and placing them down on the arm of the chair. “There is not much I can do for you except provide comfort, and a safe place to sleep, but … there is more you need than that. More than I can provide.”

There’s a layer of grief in those words and Frisk swallows hard, their chest swirling uncomfortably. Slowly, ever so slowly, Chara’d been able to feed their emotions back and break down the nearly solid walls that had been crafted from steel, but it was a long, slow process. Even before their mistake, Frisk hadn’t been the most receptive.

Chara hated themselves for ever suggesting what they did.

Toriel nods. “I will lead you out of the Ruins. … It seems you are already adequately dressed?” She notes, her tone lightening slightly. “But would you, perhaps, be opposed to a bit more warmth?”

Frisk blinks. Chara reaches down to hold their hand tight when Toriel kneels, a scarf in hand, and squeezes to keep them from flinching as she wraps it around their shoulders and neck. “There you go,” she says fondly. “Now, your neck will be nice and toasty. It’s quite cold outside the Ruins …”

Frisk holds Chara’s hand the entire way down the stairs and, although Toriel can’t see or feel it, Chara holds her hand with their free one. “Now, Frisk; I’d like to ask you to follow my instructions carefully, if you will.” Toriel has stopped at the door and turned to look at Frisk. “ Once you leave these Ruins, you’ll be in a forest … if you walk straight, you’ll reach a sentry station, or so I’ve been told.” She kneels down to adjust the scarf and Frisk squeezes tighter. They don’t want to flinch. “Please, wait there … and if no one comes after an hour, come back to the door and I shall let you back in.” Toriel smiles weakly, closing her eyes for a brief moment before standing up tall. “And we’ll try again tomorrow.”

Frisk leans their head against Chara’s shoulder, a sight that would’ve looked odd to anyone observing. But Toriel’s back is to them, busy filling the runes of the door with Boss Magic, and the two feel a wave of calmness wash over them.

“Remember my instructions, Frisk,” she orders softly, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “I … have a friend. I have never seen his face, but he has promised me you will be safe in his hands.”

Chara vaguely remembers something from Sans—about promises and a lady—and sighs. They still dislike him, but it’s not a burning hatred anymore; it’s fizzled down into something lacking in spark, though Chara doesn’t doubt that he’d reignite it in an instant. It’d been like that at the Execution Hall, too.

She opens the final door for them and they step out into the cold, turning to watch Toriel disappear behind the old, wooden doors that connect the Ruins to the outside world.

_Not so cold this time, huh? Toriel really set us up; she let us go so easy, too._ The only thing they were missing were gloves, but Chara supposed that, with the long and oversized sleeves of the winter coat, they’d be okay for a while. _I was worried for a bit._

Frisk tugs their scarf higher up their face, letting it hide their mouth, and Chara just holds their hand tighter.

Sans doesn’t meet them at the bridge like he had in the last two runs and Toriel’s instructions come to mind when they spot the sentry station. Chara’s tempted to go on; to say screw it—because although they might not hate the skeleton anymore, they definitely didn’t _trust him_ —but Frisk leads them over to the station and waits.

“I forgot to SAVE,” Frisk whispers suddenly, a bit of horror growing in their stomach when they realize it. “If we die, then …”

Chara knows there should be a SAVE ahead, but should this whole thing be a ploy to kill them it won’t do any good, and are about to bring up heading back when Flowey pops out of the ground, shaking the snow from his petals. “What the hell, Chara?”

Frisk looks at him and he groans. “Oh _great,_ you again. Where’s Chara?” From beside Frisk Chara just sighs, not even bothering with the flower. They couldn’t deal with him; not like this. Not when every time they looked at him, they wondered and agonized over what had happened to their brother, wishing they'd paid even a sliver of attention to the explanation he'd been so desperately trying to give them. “Well … whatever, I know they’re somewhere in there. But Chara—why’d you stop? We were so close … we were almost there. Why did you RESET, Chara?”

Frisk turns away, and Flowey growls in irritation. “Hey, I’m talking here!”

“and i think it’s time for you to _leaf._ ” All three of them freeze at the familiar drawl and Chara peeks around the sentry station to spot Sans standing there, exactly as he’d been in the Execution Hall. Frisk shudders under their thick layers of jackets and a quickly conjured bone is enough to send Flowey back underground. “sorry i’m late, my watch broke. it's a real bad _tendon_ sy of mine to rely on that stuff; really becomes a problem when it breaks.” Sans grins at Frisk, who seems to shrink in their scarf. “right. well; got places _tibia_ , so we oughta’ be going now.” He offers his hand again. Frisk stares at it anxiously, remembering the shattering of their SOUL—but that’d been _mutual_ , right? Toriel said—

“c’mon, kid, no need to be afraid. sure, we got some business to go over, but,” his grin widens in a fashion that they’re unsure is supposed to be menacing or not, “i’ll only _patella_ you once, got it?”

It might have been the wrong thing to say, though in his defence Sans seems to realize that—just a bit _too_ late. “ah. sorry. i mean—”

_You stupid—!_ Chara’s anger is back and Frisk flinches, more so at Chara suddenly screaming than Sans’ threat, causing the ghost to back down and lower their voice, but their anger is still evident. _Why would you—_

Frisk squeezes their eyes shut in the same way they’d done back at the Execution Hall and takes his hand. They know better than to disobey an adult, especially one who had shown to be so much stronger than them. Sans can feel their trembles, despite how hard they try to stop them, and just shrugs. “kay, good. now, this is the part you’re probably not gonna like, but you just gotta’ deal with it.” It’s with that that he pulls them completely flush to his chest and disappears, with Chara being yanked after the two of them.

He releases Frisk immediately, letting the child stumble away and regain themselves. Chara is far more disoriented than Frisk, likely because they were only brought along as an aftermath of Frisk’s SOUL, and Sans leans back and waits. He observes the child, one who had caused so much terror and havoc in such a small amount of time, with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

The room is a complete mess, with a treadmill in the middle and blankets balled up in the middle of the bed. They conclude that it belongs to Sans.

“you know why you’re here, right?” his voice has lost its lazy, casual tone and returned to the one from the Execution Hall. “that old lady of yours asked me to protect you. asked for help, asked _me_ to help you, and isn’t that a joke?” Frisk is hesitant to move and Sans seems to recognize that, because he promptly sits down on the dirty floor and motions at the bed. “go on kid, your _bones_ must be pretty weary, huh?”

Frisk feels too warm suddenly, their chest creaking painfully as something in them stirs. They knew better than to disobey an adult, especially one who was so much stronger than them. They knew better, they had to _listen._

Shakily Frisk settles down on the edge of the bed and Sans leans back approvingly. “there we go. not so hard, is it?” There’s no room for jokes right now, and he knows they wouldn’t laugh either way. “so, let’s start off easy. what’s your name, kid?”

Frisk sighs so softly that Chara barely hears them, despite sitting directly beside the child on the bed. “Frisk,” they answer simply. They knew what Sans wanted to know—but Frisk couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ volunteer that information. All they knew was that Chara was a ghost, and the two of them shared a SOUL. Letting Sans know about them could be disastrous; they could lose them. They’d lose _Chara_ , who they’d put too much pressure on and made so miserable and—

Chara takes their hand. _It’s okay,_ they reassure, and Frisk has to resist the impulse to look at them. _We’re gonna be okay._ You’re _gonna be just fine; I won’t let this piece of sh—crap hurt you, okay?_

Sans watches quietly as Frisk works through something, feeling just a slight bit unsettled at the sight. There’s something _off_ about their motions and an all-around, general feeling of frustration. It feels like someone else is here, someone he can’t see or interact with for whatever reason. “ _tibia_ honest, i don’t really care if you answer or not.” He shrugs and Frisk tilts their head slightly as they absorb his words. “but remember what i told you, kid. **I don’t like liars.** ”

And this time, for whatever reason, they _do_ flinch, unlike back in the Execution Hall when they’d felt absolutely nothing about it. But it’s barely there and Frisk covers it up quickly, feeling Chara grip their hand tighter as they grit their teeth. _Never mind. I_ _really do hate him. But—but don’t worry about him. He’s trying to scare you into giving him information; we can deal with this._

“I know,” they respond, and with his previous statement, it’s easy to pass off as a response to Sans, rather than to Chara. They fiddle with the zipper of their jacket, suddenly much too hot in the small room.

“kid, just take it off if you’re so hot,” Sans says, after a moment of silence. “dunno what you’re trying to achieve keepin’ it on.” It takes another moment before they shake their head and he just shrugs. “fine, have it your way. makes no difference to me.”

_If you want, I can do it,_ Chara offers, fiddling with the locket. _You’re pretending you’re not, but I know you’re afraid of him._ Sans asks them another question but neither of them hears it, with Frisk’s eyes trained on the ground and Chara too focused on Frisk’s well being. _Really. I don’t mind, and I promise I won’t lose my temper—_

“you listenin’ at all there?” Sans interrupts, and they both look up. Chara glares, wishing they had a body of their own so they could at least protect Frisk from the skeleton. “throw me a _bone_ here, it’s not rocket science.”

Frisk blinks slowly before sighing. “I’m sorry.”

“ … save those apologies for when they’re actually deserved,” he dismisses lowly. “so again: how old are you?”

They tilt their head curiously at the question, but don’t ask the one that plagues their mind. Chara, of course, has no resignation. _Why the hell does he want to know that?_ Frisk wishes they could say something back to them, or even give a nonverbal reply, but they can’t. “I’m ten.” The words feel heavy on their tongue for whatever reason; it’s not like it gave away anything particularly important, even if they couldn’t understand why he needed to know; perhaps it was out of regret.

At ten, they’d managed to make so many people miserable, cause so many problems for others and make so many mistakes. Before jumping, Frisk had doubted their mother’s spitting, cruel words about how her failing marriage was their fault—theirs, simply for being _born._ But now, they just might have believed she was right.

Perhaps their birth had been a grievous mistake.

“okay … guess i’m losin’ you, huh?” Sans sighs. “i’ll leave you be for now,” they both perk up in attention, “but you’re gonna let me check your SOUL in return.”

Frisk felt their stomach lurch with fear and Chara bled back through in hopes of pacifying the skeleton that they hated without hurting Frisk in the process. “No.”

“no, huh? well, guess we’re playing twenty questions again. and trust me, _frisk._ i’m no rush _tibia_ anywhere at the moment.”

They grit their teeth, hissing out a breath to compose themselves—and wasn’t _that_ curious. Sans could see how their posture had all but changed in the span of a second, how suddenly their reactions were more pronounced, even just barely, and how their eyes, which he’d spotted for only a brief second before they averted them to the ground, had turned a startling shade of red. He filed it away for another time. “so what’ll it be?”

“ … Can I ask you questions, too?” Chara shoots back, feeling Frisk pushing at them to stop, but it was weak. They could’ve easily yanked Chara back, but instead, they were just … prodding. Trying to steer them off a path that was too dangerous to go down.

Sans thinks about it for a second before shrugging. “hell, why not. if it’ll get you talkin’. but remember, kid, don’t go telling me any _fibula_ s. you really won’t be happy with the results if you do.”

Chara again has to force themselves calm. His threats didn’t scare them, but they worried about Frisk. While Chara had taken the brunt of the Underground and Undyne, Frisk’s fight with Sans had lasted so much longer; both of them still felt sick at the thought of facing Undyne again, but here they were facing their _other_ executioner, even if he hadn’t been nearly as cruel and brutal as the other one. “Okay.”

Sans’ grin grows slightly. “good. so obviously, since i’m older, i’ll be going first.” Chara very nearly snaps at him, reeling themselves in at the last second; that would be _disastrous._ “you like spaghetti?”

Chara blinks, and they feel Frisk’s confusion alongside them. “W-What?” And there was another mistake—Frisk didn’t stutter. They never stuttered, no matter how afraid or upset they happened to be. And again, they restrained themselves from asking why Sans' asked such a question, knowing fully well that Frisk would never, under any circumstances, go questioning him.

Frisk offers, _I don’t know._

Chara parrots the answer and Sans’ brow furrows. “how don’t you know what food you like? never had it, or somethin’?”

_… Chara, I’ll be alright,_ Frisk says suddenly. _I can do this._ Chara lets Frisk take control and the child breathes in softly before admitting, “Only as a child.”

“kid, you still _are_ a child,” Sans replied. “ten ain’t exactly old, unless your lifespan is that of a cat.”

“A … cat?” Frisk mumbles, before they can stop themselves, and they curl their toes in their shoes anxiously and wait for the backlash.

There is none.

“hm. cats’ have a lifespan of 10 to 20 years,” he informs them, “humans … what. 80?”

Frisk shrugged. “so you don’t know, huh?” Sans manages to bring the conversation back in place. “guess i’ll accept it this time. now—” he raises a brow once more, “your turn.”

They struggle for a few moments. Chara offers suggestions, some innocent and others more malicious, and after a long period of deliberation they squeeze Chara’s hand and ask, “Why did you offer me mercy?”

Sans sighs, a deep and heavy thing, and rests his skull against the wall he’s leaned up against. “goin’ straight for the heavy stuff. ‘suppose you’d wonder that though, after what you did.” Sans doesn’t care that Frisk’s posture stiffens and their expression somehow manages to become even more blank; if anything, it’s satisfying. “honestly, dunno myself.”

Their head shoots up and he offers a lazy grin. “i guess there’s a _skeleton_ of reasons, but i’d be hard-pressed to tell you the exact one.”

Frisk wants to pry, but knows it’s wrong. Knows it’s unfair, because Sans brushed off their lacklustre answer to his innocuous question about spaghetti; and more than anything else, knows it's dangerous. “Alright.” Frisk swings their legs a bit and from beside them, Chara crosses their arms, already knowing what’s coming next.

They’re wrong.

“know how to skate?”

Chara could’ve sworn he would have asked about their motives; he’d already done so in the past, but to no avail, and they’d even asked about his. Yet now— _now,_ he’d passed up the opportunity for at least some vague answer that may or may not have been true. Frisk is equally baffled and, for the first time since Sans brought them here, look over at Chara. They cover it by looking around in general, before settling their eyes on the treadmill. “… No.” He had to have seen so, when he’d offered them his hand and guided them across the ice the first time, so why ask? What was the _point?_

“I … “ Chara moved so they were level with Frisk’s gaze, attempting to offer some amount of comfort. “I’m sorry. I have no more questions.”

“is that some cheap attempt at gettin’ out of this?” Sans asks, his voice clear as day. “because, kid. we’re not finished until i _say_ we’re finished.”

Frisk closed their eyes, hating the way they could feel their emotions squeezing out from where they’d been stuffed into. They didn’t belong out; emotions were dangerous. Emotions got them hurt. Emotions—

Emotions made them human and Frisk was very much not one. They’d become a monster, the demon spawn and mistake their mother had ranted about so passionately. “It’s not,” they finally manage as an answer, “I just don’t know.”

Sans observes them. Compared to when he’d found the kid, all but cornered by the yellow flower that plagued Papyrus and filled his head with rotten ideas, Frisk was at least a little less tense. Whether it was genuine or simply him misreading their body language, he didn’t know, but it was at least an improvement. Perhaps, in time, he’d manage to open them further—and _then_ , he could get what he wanted to know.

He’d made a promise, as much as he loathed to fulfill it; he’d made two promises, actually. One to protect the next child who came through—

And one to protect and help _Frisk_ , especially.

Sans hated making promises but for whatever damn reason, he’d made both; breaking them would be easy. But Papyrus—

Papyrus would do better. Papyrus, as amazing and good as he was, would do everything in his power to fulfill them.

So Sans would do it. Reluctantly. Whatever he’d felt in the Judgement Hall was mostly gone, buried in memories of a timeline that had been erased from existence. Mostly, but not entirely. Besides, he had his own motives as well; fulfilling the promise he’d made at the same time was just a bonus.

“last question, then. and imma need you to really consider this, yeah?” It’s enough for Frisk to nod, and Sans sighs before asking, “will you let me see your SOUL?”

_I knew this was a trick,_ Chara snapped in response, immediately on edge. _He’s planning on doing it again, he’s going to—_

“Why?” Frisk asked, swallowing dryly and pretending that what they felt in their chest was Chara’s anger, rather than their own fear. Fear of what he wanted, fear of dying once more; but more than anything, fear for questioning him. Questioning an  _adult—_ it wasn't safe. They'd made a mistake, and were going to pay for it.

Sans shrugs, getting to his feet. Slowly, Frisk tries to edge themselves away from him, but in the process find the wall at their back.

They trapped themselves.

“guess that fear’s justified,” he remarks, completely unbothered. Although Frisk has backed up Sans hasn’t moved at all, though all of them know he wouldn’t have to if he wanted to kill them. “think of it this way. i can do it myself.” It sounds and feels like a threat, but he’s speaking before Chara and Frisk can react. “why ask you? if i wanted to kill you, buddy … you’d be dead where you’re seated right now.”

Frisk squeezes their eyes shut and feels Chara take their hand reassuringly. _He has a point, as much as I hate to admit that._ Chara observes Sans where he stands before returning their attention back to Frisk. _At least, if you do it, it’ll be over with._

“Like ripping off a band-aid,” Frisk echoes. “ … Alright.” They crawl away from the bed, watching Sans warily as they approach. He lets them come to him, rather than the other way around, and although Frisk stops at the treadmill it’s enough.

They breathe in deeply and pull out their SOUL, and nearly yank it back in when they realize what it looks like and the stats beneath it.

Their HP before the previous RESET hadn’t been drastically higher than their first time through, but that didn’t explain why their HP was a measly 5; half of what they’d started with.

And the worst part of it all—

Their SOUL was _tattered_. Chara could remember seeing hair-thin cracks when they first met Frisk, and a bit more prominent ones the final time they’d checked before their first RESET. But this—this was something else entirely. The cracks had become gouges, ripping almost clean through the heart, and spindly spider cracks branched out in all directions. Frisk trembled at the sight and, for once, Chara was too lost in their own emotions to help. They’d never noticed how bad the damage had become.

‘ … yup. knew i was seein’ something like this, but didn’t exactly put it together ‘till recently.” He dismissed their SOUL, sighing heavily and looking up at the ceiling. “frisk, why’re you trying to split your SOUL in half.”

It wasn’t a question; which was good, because Frisk had absolutely no idea what he meant. Sans must have seen it on their face, because he shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and explained, “when you had your little … episode, i took your SOUL out to check and saw it ripping itself in half as your HP plummeted.” This was no time for jokes, and his tone easily matched that despite the ever prominent grin. “seems like you don’t know either, huh.”

Frisk bunched the fabric of their jacket between their hands as the realization dawned on them. Chara seemed to be realizing the same thing, because Frisk could feel the deep and heavy regret and anger as if it was their own.

Chara was taking their SOUL. Or rather, Chara had already taken part of their SOUL, and when they ventured too far away from the original, it rebounded back to Frisk. It explained the episodes, the low HP following each one; it explained everything.

But the question was; when did Chara’s grip become so _strong?_

“take it easy.” Frisk was brought back by his voice. “dunno what’s causing this, but you sure do. and i’m not gonna force you to tell me that.” Frisk’s shoulders relaxed just a bit in relief. “but whatever it is you’re doing, **stop.** because once your SOUL is ripped in half … well. not sure exactly what would happen, but it wouldn’t be pleasant.” Sans inclined his head slightly and somehow, it felt as if he was towering above them like he’d done in the Execution Hall. “got it?”

Frisk nodded; he ordered a verbal one, so they blinked slowly and said, “I understand.”

Sans studies them for a good moment before nodding. “good. now—” he headed towards the door without any rush, “why don’tcha come and meet pap. know you’ve already _met_ him twice, but it’s about time you meet him for real.”

Sans didn’t want the anomaly near his brother, not in the least. He didn’t doubt they’d stay subdued though; the last RESET had done too much to that child. He could see it in their eyes, ironically enough. The sheer lack of life and spark told him everything he needed to know, which was why he held the door open for them and let them pass through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HC Sans as a scientist, so of course he'd want to study this 'anomaly' of a child, because people don't just end up like that for no reason. And Frisk ... fell down the hole in a better mental state than they're in now. 
> 
> If you guys noticed, when Frisk and/or Chara is who we're looking through certain words are different; for example, Execution Hall rather than Judgement Hall, which is used when Sans is who we're looking through. Other changes like this will be prominent, but they're not massive. It's just a difference is how those characters view and understand certain things.
> 
> PLEASE let me know what you thought! And thank you so much for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How deep can you dig before you break something valuable?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a dumb fuck who uploaded this on accident before finishing it. Sorry for anyone who got that alert and clicked on it, only to get nothing. I'm a dumbass. Also, I hate this chapter with a passion, so like ... yeah. Everything feels off and I was super off balance the entire time I was writing, because I have the next chapter written out and I like that one 10x more. And then there are scenes I have planned out that I'm SO psyched to write, but that won't come up for another few chapters, and it's just ... ah. Ah, the pain and struggle of being a writer.
> 
> Also, Sans is still a jackass. Don't deal with severely traumatized and abused children like he does because it probably won't work out in your favor. It doesn't exactly work out in his, either, but he has no idea about that.
> 
> ALSO: I'm awful with puns, sorry everyone. I'm trying my best.
> 
> PS: I probably won't get a chance to update until after next week (finals, wew) so this chapter is extremely long to make up for that fact.

  _Can you change me?_

_From the monster you made me._

_-_

Frisk wishes they had the ability to stay calm around Papyrus, with his booming voice and excitable attitude, but he’s just so _loud_ that they have a hard time being around him in general. It brings forth memories of their parents screaming in their room and glass beer bottles shattering on the wall beside their head, of their mother's twisted and angry expression when they pretended they couldn't hear the hateful words she spewed from her mouth without any hesitation.

But considering how conflicted Chara feels over the skeleton, that may be a good thing. They hate Sans, but have no clue how to feel about his brother, who had offered them kindness and mercy in the wake of his death. Had encouraged them as he dissolved into dust. And Frisk; they simply remember how violently they’d shredded their arm after it all. The emotions had been put away and kept away, and they planned for it to _stay_ that way. Better for both of them, anyways.

“SO SANS … YOU SAID THIS IS, IN FACT, A REAL LIVE HUMAN?” Frisk is seated on the staircase, while the two brothers talk in the living room. “THIS ISN’T ANOTHER PRANK, IS IT?”

“nah, pap. you think i’d _skulk_ around with an impostor?” Papyrus groans at the pun. “this one’s a human; frisk?” he calls, tilting his head back and motioning for them to come down. Chara purses their lips as Frisk obeyed, coming to a stop at the arm of the couch. It was directly between them and the skeletons, offering at least a small amount of security and safety, as transparent as it may appear. “this is my brother, papyrus. pap, this here’s frisk.”

Papyrus’ grin widens. “WOWIE … A REAL LIVE HUMAN. I NEVER THOUGHT I’D MEET ONE—I MUST LET UNDYNE KNOW STRAIGHT AW—”

“nah, bro. you see—” Sans blinks when he sees how pale Frisk’s face has become, trembling hard enough for him to actually notice; he’s willing to bet they’re trying to hold it back, too. “no tellin’ undyne. got it? this human … well, they’re not feelin’ all too well. gotta help them out.”

“OH.” Papyrus’ turns to look as well, his grin disappearing almost instantly as he notices how quickly they'd deteriorated. “SANS. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM?”

Frisk’s grip on the couch arm is so tight their knuckles are turning white and they’ve gone from silently watching to all but hyperventilating; their pupils are so small they're nearly swallowed in a sea of brown, shadowed by something that didn't belong in the eyes of any child. “well. this isn’t what i meant; i can tell ya’ later ‘bout that.” Chara grit their teeth, unable to stop their fear from bleeding right into Frisk's body. The mere thought of facing their executioner left them nearly blind with terror, and it was only Frisk's desperate attempts at pushing and locking away those fears that allowed Chara to even breathe. “hey, kid. need to lay down, or somethin’? you don’t look so hot.”

They gasp suddenly and barely manage to resist the urge to hide their eyes, the pain and agony of a spear gouging them out ramming into them like a battering ram. Undyne wasn’t here, she wasn’t here they were fine they were _safe they had to stop feeling or else—or else—_

“SANS … I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO.” Papyrus’ earlier ecstatic frenzy over meeting Frisk had quickly become concern. “WHAT DO HUMANS LIKE TO BE COMFORTED WITH?”

Sans struggles for a moment before managing, “cinnabunnies. they _love’em,_ wanna go check if belle’s got a batch in yet?” He'd rather be the one to get out of the house—he'd signed up for this, but it was too damn _soon_ god dammit—but he wasn't willing to risk anything. As small as the chance maybe, he had no clue what the anomaly would do; would they lash out in violence, or shut down completely? Papyrus wouldn't be prepared for any kind of violence and Sans wasn't going to let them dust his brother _again,_ especially when he wouldn't be able to comfortably blame them for it.

Undyne seemed to have triggered the attack, but that didn't mean they wouldn't turn on Papyrus for being the one to bring her up in the first place. At the very least, Sans had his blue magic to hold the kid down if they lunged. He hadn't spotted any weapons on them, which already made the situation better than the one he'd been in before forcing them to RESET.

“YES—I WILL DO SO IMMEDIATELY. HUMAN!” Frisk isn’t even visible anymore, their own self-preservation overtaking their terror; they’d hidden completely behind the side of the couch, their back flush against it, and it takes all of Sans' self-control to not bolt upstairs to his room. “I WILL GET YOU THE BEST CINNABUNNIES AND—” he pauses. “SANS, DO HUMANS LIKE HOT CHOCOLATE?”

“love it.” His voice wasn't forced—it didn't sound forced, did it?

“GREAT! THEN I WILL BE BACK SOON, HUMAN FRISK!” Papyrus nearly slams the door with how fast he’s out of the house and Sans sighs, hoping that without the loud noise Frisk would be able to calm down at least a bit and make his job easier.

He’s wrong.

“hey, buddy.” he hesitates at approaching, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be well received with their current state. “i’m comin’ around the couch, keep it easy. ‘kay?” There’s no response, but Sans does his best to give them as wide a berth as possible before settling down across from them, almost against the wall. “‘sup? what’s got your bones so rattled?”

Frisk shakes their head desperately, their hands clamped over their eyes. Chara isn’t much better, though they’ve wrapped their arms as tight as possible around Frisk, for both their sake. Still, Frisk struggles to contain their panicked breaths as memories of Hell assault them.

“Please no more,” they croak out, feet skidding across the floor as they attempt to back up into something already at their back. Sans can see how poorly they’re breathing but finds himself at a loss for how to respond; he’d seen them scared, but never to this extent. Never to such a level that they seemed unable to even connect with the outside world. “I’m sorry—”

“kid. frisk. _frisk,_ ” he repeats, trying to keep his own voice as even as possible as his own panic over the situation begins to sneak upon him. God, he didn't sign up for this—yet he _did. God dammit._ “remember what i said? save those apologies for when they’re necessary; you don’t gotta apologize for this.”

Frisk swallows hard. _We’re okay,_ Chara repeats the same mantra over and over again. _Undyne isn’t—i-isn’t here, Undyne is gone, she's—she—_ Chara’s voice breaks. Frisk tries again to hold in the panic, to stuff it back where it’d shot out of at the mere mention of meeting Undyne. They didn’t want to die anymore, even if they were a monster they didn’t—

“you ain’t no monster,” Frisk hears, over their own harsh and laboured breaths, “you’re full human. not any kind of monster.”

_'Not a monster not a monster, I’m sorry I’m sorry I don’t want to be bad I don’t I don’t I’m so sorry so so sorry sorry—'_

Sans feels like he’s watching an active train wreck with no way to stop it. Frisk’s mouth moves silently, with unspoken words that only they know, but he’s positive they aren’t anything good. He sweats slightly from the nerves, his grin strained as he struggles for a way to calm the anomaly—no, the child in front of him. He couldn’t let himself think of them like that if he planned to help, as much as he'd rather disappear from the room entirely. Papyrus had been an easy kid to raise. Even his tantrums and crying fits had been easily calmed; nothing this extreme or drastic.

But, then again, Sans had already admitted that the child in front of him was a far different case than his little brother. Far more damaged, and far more to be fixed.

“hey. uh. you like stories, frisk?” he attempts once more, drawing on his memories of what he'd used all those years ago. “pap loves ‘em. asks me to read the same one to him every night—mr. fluffy bunny, i’ve just about got it memorized by now. wanna hear it, kid?”

He barely notices their nod. Unfortunately, he notices that not only have their hands covered their eyes, but also began to dig into their bangs and hairline, and realizes he _really has to do something._

So he talks. He tells the story of Mr. Fluffy Bunny, shooting looks of desperation at the door the whole time. While Sans has absolutely no clue what he’s supposed to do to help here, he does know Frisk hates loud noises; Papyrus returning before he’s at least settled them a _bit_ even would be a disaster. This was his problem now. Sans had brought this upon himself, even if he hadn't anticipated something like this happening when he agreed to Toriel's desperate promise all those weeks ago, and he'd be damned if he let his own cowardice worsen the situation.

When that story runs out, he begins another one. And then a third, which he has to make up on the spot, and finally, _finally_ he sees some improvement in the child. Their breathing, while still erratic, has calmed, and the death grip they’d had on their hair has turned into a simple tug. “great. you’re doin’ great, frisk,” he tells them, once the third story is finally over, praying to whatever God that exists out there that the improvement continues. “mind if i help ya’ up? papyrus will be back soon with the goods, and you can’t have cinnabunnies and hot cocoa without some blankets.”

Frisk sniffles and Sans hates the fact that it’s the most child-like thing he’s heard from them. “I can’t,” they plead. At least, it sounds like a plea. “I’m—” they’re cut off by a harsh gasp, an ugly and painful sound that almost has him wincing in sympathy, “—bad. A monster. I’m not—” another, “not—not _allowed.”_

And isn’t _that_ a concerning statement. Sans leans further back until he’s mostly slouched against his spot against the wall, running through a list of all responses that could work in his favour. “and why’s that?”

Frisk is silent, with only hiccups and breathing to fill the silence. Finally, he gets a response.

He wishes he didn’t.

“Monsters li-like—” evidently, whatever they’re saying isn’t something good, “li—like me don’t—des—deserve _mercy_.”

Sans can feel himself sweating, worse than any time in recent memory. Why did he agree to this? “‘kay. well, that’s not true here.” They inhale sharply but he continues, “humans, monsters, lint. i don’t care; they can sit on the couch. ain’t nothing to do with mercy, but you’ve been given it, kid.”

He doesn’t think it’ll work. In fact, Sans fears it’ll trigger another attack, or just worsen the one they’re stuck in. But, miraculously, it does.

He sees red peeking out from behind their fingers. Files it away for another time, just like before, because he can’t afford to deal with that at the moment, and offers a lazy grin that he hopes doesn't show just how afraid and panicked he'd been. They cover their eyes again and stay like that before he sees them nod. Sans barely stops himself from sighing in relief, his head tilted back against the wall as he struggles to pull himself together.

“‘kay … ok. good, that’s good. wanna get up? we’ll get’cha some blankets, wrap you up all tight, and wait for pap.” He hopes they agree, because he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. His room has never felt so far away. “yeah?”

A tiny voice echoes back. “ … Yeah.”

* * *

Frisk wishes Chara didn’t have to sit alone, but they don’t have a body when Chara uses theirs. The blankets Sans gave them are old and worn, yet fluffy and soft at the same time. They feel their toes curl, their sneakers discarded by the door by Sans—he’d lazily remarked, _“no shoes on the furniture, kid,”_ when he handed them the blankets before disappearing into the kitchen. Frisk gets the idea that he doesn't want to look at them, but that doesn't surprise them; they'd allowed themselves to show such blatant and potent weakness in front of him and his brother. It wasn't surprising he was disgusted or disturbed as a result.

_I’m sorry, Chara,_ Frisk says quietly. They don’t remember when Chara took over, only that it’d been at some point between Sans’ stories and the blankets. _I’m sorry. Are you alright?_

Chara hums in response, their eyes shut with exhaustion. Truthfully, most of the panic had been theirs; it was only once the memories of Hell began to flow back, with the worst and most painful ones first, that Frisk’s had reached a level that, combined with Chara’s, was completely too much for them to handle; there had been no chance of shutting down the panic by that point.

_I failed … I’m sorry._ Chara could feel how disgusted Frisk felt towards themselves and wished they had some way to respond without alerting Sans. They were close to saying fuck it and replying anyways, Sans be damned; Frisk was spiraling fast, and each second of silence only made them worse. _I made you hurt, and I didn’t do my job right—_

“You’re fine,” Chara finally dares to whisper, unable to bear it anymore. They couldn’t let it go on any longer, and could care less at that point if Sans heard them or not. “Don’t apologize, okay? It wasn’t even—” they wince when the door slams open and Papyrus bounds in, holding a box in one arm and a large thermos in the other, “ … even your job, anyways.”

“SANS. I HAVE RETURNED WITH THE CINNABUNNIES AND HOT CHOCOLATE FOR HUMAN FRISK!” He pauses, finally noticing the bundled up child on the couch, and grins, though both children can see the concern and worry shining beneath it. “AH! ARE YOU FEELING BETTER NOW, HUMAN FRISK?”

“bro, just call’em frisk,” Sans says, finally daring to show his face. He chuckles as the box and thermos are put down, and Chara doesn't have to worry about glaring at him; he won't even look in their direction. “can’t let anyone know we’ve got a human.”

Papyrus blinks somehow. Neither of them cares to wonder how it's possible; considering Sans can breathe and wink, blinking isn't too far out of the realm of what's surprising anymore. “OH … YOU’RE RIGHT. SANS; YOU SAID THE HUMAN IS ILL?” Chara is perfectly content watching the two interact, and Frisk has no desire to take control. Their failure stings, no matter how much Chara claims it wasn't their fault. “WHAT ARE THEY SICK WITH?”

“eh. this an’ that.” He shrugs, bringing everything into the kitchen, including the conversation. “just takin’ care of a favour for a friend.”

Chara sighs, doing their best to tune the conversation out. Toriel really had meant for them to stay with Sans, and they weren’t entirely sure how to feel about it. They loathed him. Loathed how he’d hurt Frisk, loathed how he pretended he cared about either of them, loathed his smile—

_Papyrus … isn’t bad, I guess,_ Frisk adds, in hopes of drawing their thoughts away from their hatred of the skeleton. _I wish he was quieter, though._

Chara sighed. “Same.”

They’re given not one, not two, but _four_ cinnabunnies by Papyrus, each steaming hot and piled on a large plate, along with a massive mug filled with hot chocolate. Chara is tempted to chug the drink, only stopped by the copious amounts of steam rising from the mug that ensured they'd burn their tongue and throat if they tried.

“FOR YOU, HU—FRISK,” Papyrus corrects himself, setting the plate down beside them on the couch and the mug on the side table to their right. “I AM GLAD YOU’VE CALMED DOWN, BUT PLEASE TAKE THESE! SO YOU CAN STAY CALM, AND GET BETTER.”

Chara’s throat is tight with regret and they have to take a moment to compose themselves before replying, “Thanks, Papyrus.”

He beams. “YOU’RE WELCOME!” He looks at the turned off TV with an unpleasant expression. “SANS! WHY HAVEN’T YOU OFFERED OUR GUEST ANYTHING TO WATCH?!”

“dunno what they like.”

Papyrus huffs. “LAZY BONES. H—FRISK. DO YOU HAVE A PREFERENCE?”

“I—” Chara looks down at the plate of cinnabunnies and knows they’re answering for both themselves and Frisk. “No … I don’t watch TV.”

Papyrus gasps. “WHAT! YOU ARE MISSING OUT; HERE. LET ME SHOW YOU MY FAVORITE SHOW.” He picks up the remote from the TV stand and promptly turns it on. The screen is filled with … something. A robot of sorts, though Chara isn’t entirely sure what it’s doing. “WELL, THIS ISN’T A GOOD EPISODE TO START WITH … BUT METTATON’S WEEKEND SPECIAL WILL BE STARTING SOON.” It snaps into place where they’ve seen it before; Mettaton, the robot they’d slain without thinking. They’d still been trapped in the aftermath of Hell at the time, too afraid to stop moving in case Undyne somehow came back; in case the memories came back.

Chara quickly shuts down that train of thought and takes the offered remote. Their eyes stray towards the hot chocolate at their side and once Papyrus is back in the kitchen with Sans they finally reach out to take it. “Wanna try it, Frisk?”

_… No,_ they mumble. _You can have it._

Chara knows why they refuse. It’d been like that with Toriel, too. Always offering Chara the sweets, or anything delicious. It was the same, every time; _‘I don’t deserve this’._ They tried not to force it, most of the time. This was not one of those times. “There’s a lot of it,” they attempt, watching the steam rise and their hands warm from the heat of the drink. They're close to saying fuck it; burnt throat and tongue be damned. “And there’s no _way_ I can eat all these cinnabunnies by myself.”

Frisk is hesitant. Chara keeps pushing. “I like sweets, but even this is a lot for just me. Please, Frisk? Just help me out a little bit?”

_… Alright,_ they agree, only after Chara has drunk some of the hot chocolate. It tastes sweeter than Toriel’s, but lacks the depth of chocolate that hers had contained. _But only a little._

“Only a little,” they agree, letting Frisk take over to try some of the sweets.

* * *

Papyrus offers them his bed while he sets up the shed. Frisk—and by extension, Chara, though they both know it's mostly Frisk, even if Frisk refused to acknowledge that the emotion exists—is plagued by guilt, with the knowledge that Papyrus is working all day and then working on the shed all night as they take _his bed._ But Papyrus doesn't complain or give even the slightest hint he's bothered.

Frisk knows he must be, though. How couldn't he be? He was letting a monster sleep in his bed while he slaved away in the cold and they were just—

Just _agreeing._

"I don't get it," Frisk tells Chara, for probably the hundredth time. It's the third night they've been in Snowdin and the third night they've been given Papyrus' room while he works on what's, apparently, going to be theirs. They've barely seen Sans since that first day; he's gone before they wake up, much to Papyrus' excitement _and_ frustration, and pops in just long enough for dinner before disappearing to his room.

In the wake of their appearance, Sans has become a model worker, and although they never quite hear him complain about it both of the children know Papyrus is conflicted about how to feel about it.

_Why they're letting you stay in here. Right?_ Chara sighs, laying beside Frisk as they stare up at the ceiling. It has glow in the dark stickers of stars that shine back at them in the dark; it's almost reminiscent of the room they'd hidden in back at Waterfall, where mushrooms illuminated the room in a bright blue that washed out stone and flesh. _It's just because we're guests, that's all._

Their brow furrows in frustration. "That's not a good answer," they argue, but it's weak. "We're … guests, but they don't want us here. Papyrus—" they sigh, their hands folded over their stomach idly, "I wonder if he would've allowed this, if Sans had said anything about it before bringing us over."

Chara considers the question for only a second before replying, _Probably. He's so nice—I still don't understand why,_ they admit. _I can't even say he'd be different if he remembered, because … well, we know he wouldn't be._ They crossed their arms over their chest, all but burning a hole through the ceiling with their glare. _I don't get it._

"Papyrus is good," Frisk replies simply, even though they're a bit baffled as well. "He's too good. He's like you, Chara—"

_Me?_ They repeat. _What the hell are_ you _talking about?_

Frisk rolls on their side so they can look directly at the ghost. "You're good, too. And you feel—you're like Papyrus … you're good." They sigh again, softer this time. "I'm … afraid I'm going to taint you with my badness. Chara—you won't leave me, right? Even though I'm bad, you won't?" They knew they didn't deserve such a thing; to have a friend at their side, despite all they'd done wrong, but the thought of being alone after everything made their SOUL hurt, down to its very core.

Chara grits their teeth, hating the words coming from their friend's mouth. _You're not bad, Frisk,_ they argue, despite knowing it'd do nothing. This conversation isn't new, as much as they wish it was. _How many times do I gotta tell you that?_

They just shrug, staring at the ghost for a few seconds longer before rolling back onto their back. "I'm sorry."

_You don't—_ Chara bites their tongue, nearly repeating the same words Sans had told them. They'd sooner die than agree with that bastard, but he was right. _You don't have to apologize, it's not like you did anything wrong._ Chara can't stand admitting Sans is right. But he was.

_Say. Tomorrow, let's play with MK some more._ The suggestion is sudden and out of nowhere and Frisk blinks. _He's so bubbly._

"Alright." With both the skeleton brothers off at work during the day—despite Papyrus' insistence that he should be at home, taking care of their guests—they've been gifted a key to the house, and instructions on where not to go. The list was as follows;

Forbidden: anywhere outside Snowdin.

Allowed: Snowdin.

It wasn't a very long list and Chara had kicked Sans in the skull when he repeated it to them. He had no clue they'd done it, but it helped with the sheer frustration they felt at being caged in like an animal. Not that they had any real desire to _leave_ town, though; forward was Waterfall, where Undyne and Hell resided, and back was the barren wastelands that lead to the Ruins. But the fact that they'd been strictly forbidden from doing so made the whole situation worse.

For whatever reason, all the kids in Snowdin were out of school. Whether it was because of some holiday erected after Chara's death, or something exclusive to Snowdin, they weren't sure, but it worked in their favour. Frisk didn't like to leave the house often, due to the cold weather that seemed to get past all their layers, but sometimes it was necessary. If there had been no one their own age to be around, it would've been even more boring than it was.

Frisk still hesitated to say anything or interact, but that didn't matter. They'd do it for Chara; they'd do anything, for Chara.

It was the least they could do.

Chara watches them for a long second before sitting up and kicking off the bed so they could sit down against the wall. _Well, let's just go to bed,_ they say suddenly. _With that storm outside, it's gonna be cold as hell tomorrow, so might as well sleep as much as possible. MK's still gonna be as excited as usual anyways._

It takes a bit longer for Frisk to reply, this time. "… Alright." They reluctantly crawl under the covers, drawing the blankets up to their chin as they curl into a tight ball. "Goodnight, Chara."

_… Night, Frisk. See you tomorrow._

* * *

Neither of them have any idea what the shed looked like before being remodelled, but the sight of it following the three-day wait is enough to leave both of them speechless. It's strangely full, with a mattress and blankets, pillows, and even a dresser. Nothing like the room at Toriel's (Frisk still refused to call it theirs, no matter how many nights they spent lying in the bed and running their fingers along the pink walls), but still more than the room they _did_ call theirs, back on the surface. There are three doors, and Papyrus adds a second key to the keychain they'd been given. It sits beside the house key, and Frisk stares at the two pieces of metal as Papyrus explains.

"THIS SECOND KEY IS FOR THE FRONT DOOR …" he motions at the door that opens to the rest of Snowdin, "IT'S ALREADY LOCKED, BUT IF YOU EVER WANT TO USE IT, YOU'LL HAVE TO LOCK IT WITH THIS. THAT DOOR UP THERE—" Frisk turns to look at the third door, "IT LEADS TO A BATHROOM; A LOT OF MONSTERS IN SNOWDIN HAVE THEM! SO I ASKED SOME VILLAGERS TO HELP ME BUILD IT."

The main house had a bathroom, too, but it was just a sink and a mirror. It made the whole process a bit awkward, and when Chara slipped through the door and confirmed that it was an _actual_ bathroom Frisk felt a wave of relief. They'd been managing, up until then, but it would make the whole process a lot easier.

Plus, it was _theirs._ They hadn't taken the blade to their skin in the three days they'd been living in Snowdin, but the urge was always there. Frisk had refrained with the knowledge that there was nowhere to hide the blood, seeing how they were staying in Papyrus' room and that the house only had a fake bathroom to go along with it, but if this was really for them—there would be no reason to worry.

"FINALLY. AS YOU'VE SEEN, THIS DOOR LEADS TO THE LIVING ROOM." Papyrus pats the wood door they'd come through. "THERE'S A LOCK ON THIS, TOO," he locks the door as a demonstration, "EVERYONE DESERVES PRIVACY, AFTER ALL! SO IF YOU EVER WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE, JUST LOCK THE DOOR. THOUGH …" the white pinpricks focus on them, now, and Frisk immediately goes still. "PLEASE DO NOT LOCK IT AT NIGHT, FRISK—MY BROTHER HAS EXPLAINED YOUR ILLNESS TO ME, FINALLY. IT WOULD BE AWFUL IF YOU LOCKED YOURSELF IN AND HAD AN ATTACK! SO … IF YOU WILL. DON'T LOCK IT AT NIGHT."

Frisk isn't exactly sure what lie Sans told Papyrus about them, but they don't dare ask. "Alright. … Thank you, Papyrus, for everything; I'm … sorry for all the trouble."

"NO TROUBLE AT ALL!" He grins at them, but Frisk keeps their eyes on their shoes. "YOU'RE OUR GUEST, AND MY FRIEND. THIS IS THE LEAST I COULD DO FOR YOU."

_Did he just call us his friend?_ Chara asks, slightly baffled. _We've barely talked to him. How can he consider us—_

"AH! THE TIME!" He shrieks, and Frisk barely manages to keep from flinching. Three days is enough time for them to adjust to small amounts of exposure to Papyrus' booming voice, but that doesn't mean they're completely comfortable or used to the volume. "I'M SORRY, BUT I HAVE TO GET GOING; UNDYNE IS EXPECTING ME!" This time they do flinch. Papyrus was smart enough, following the dreadful reaction they'd had to the mere idea of Undyne knowing of their existence, to never so much as hint at the two meeting; but there was no reason for him to censor her from his speech entirely. "I'LL SEE YOU LATER, THEN! AND I HOPE YOU LIKE YOUR NEW ROOM."

He's gone then, and they stand there for a good minute before walking themselves over to the bed and sitting down. Chara huffs when they shove their head through the door, only to see nothing on the other side. _I can't see through this door—or the walls next to it,_ they continue, after trying to phase through to the other side. _What the hell?_

Frisk tilts their head. "What do you mean?"

_It's just dark if I try._ They try again, crossing their arms when it fails. _Speaking of, how does the door open right to the living room, anyways? There's gotta be like … I dunno. Six feet? Between the shed and their house. There's no way the door should just open into the living room like this._

Frisk opens the door to check; it leads right to the living room. They open the front door of the house, haphazardly shoving their feet into their shoes so they can step outside to look—

There's been absolutely no outward change to the house or the shed. There's not even an extra room, where Papyrus put the bathroom; it's still perfectly square and disconnected from the house.

"… How?" They murmur, locking the door behind them and removing their shoes as they head back into the shed. "There's not even another door."

_Magic,_ Chara grumbles. _I hate it._

Frisk doesn't fully understand how it's possible, but supposes it's for the best. There's no reason for anyone to suspect they're living in the shed if nothing outward has changed about its appearance, after all; which would make hiding all that much easier, if it ever came to that.

_Well, whatever. Wanna go play, now?_ They ask. Frisk shrugs. _Or actually, let's wait a bit. It's still pretty early._

"Whatever you want, Chara," they respond simply, hugging their backpack to their chest protectively. "Just let me know when."

… _Right._

* * *

"YO! DUDE!" They blink at the sudden exclamation, looking over at the monster running towards them. It had taken less than two minutes of being outside for him to track them down. "Did you hear!? Did you!?"

"Hear what?"

"About _Undyne,"_ MK continues. Frisk feels their fingers twitch anxiously. "I heard from my sister that there's gonna be some kind of wrestling contest! It'll be Undyne versus Aaron!"

_If he only heard it from his sister, how did he expect us to know?_ Chara gripes. _It's not like we have any real contact down here._

"I didn't," they finally reply, wishing they'd stayed inside their room. "When is it?"

MK pauses, his tail swishing impatiently as he struggles to remember the details. "Uh … I don't remember, actually. Crap!" He groans. "Man, my sister is gonna _kill me!_ I can't even call her again until this weekend, either. Sorry, dude."

Frisk just shrugs and pretends that the panic in their throat is a figment of their imagination. If MK knew about their fear of Undyne, he'd go crazy; and not in a good way. It was too dangerous to let anyone know—neither of them had any idea how far Undyne's reach was, but if she got wind that some new 'monster' was afraid of her, they doubted she'd let it go.

"Well, whatever. I'll probably hear about it again when it gets closer. So—wanna come play with Cinnamon and me and everyone else?" He hops through the snow as they trek towards the heart of town, nearly falling once or twice when one of his claws catches in one of the mounds. "I heard Jebbin will be coming out with his sister today. _Finally."_

They watch him carefully, ready to grab the back of his shirt in case something goes wrong as they ask, "Who's Jebbin?"

"Mr. Slime's kids!" he replies. "With those two back, we can finally play Monsters and Humans again; you wanna join?" He waves his tail to the not-mayor as they pass and Frisk ducks their head further into their coat, wishing they had a hat or something to hide better. The residents of Snowdin had been extraordinarily kind to them since they arrived, even if their interactions had only been with the other children and the occasional adult. No one seemed to question where the skeleton brothers had gotten a child from, which was both relieving and disturbing.

They wondered if some discussion had gone down between the adults behind their back, but ultimately abandoned that train of thought when they realized it would bring nothing worthwhile. "Oh, wait." MK looks at them curiously, "You're from the Capital, right? You've played it there, right?"

_Don't look at me,_ Chara says quickly, when Frisk looks at them questioningly. _Maybe it's like Cops and Robbers. You ever—?_ They trail off when Frisk shakes their head. _Oh._

"REALLY!?" He gasps. "Dude! You're missing out! It's like, the _best_ game of tag there is. We'll show you how it's done—you can be a monster this time!" He laughs, taking off in a sprint as they turn towards the upper part of town. "C'mon, dude! You're gonna get left behind if you don't run!"

_Idiot! You're gonna—_ they wince when MK falls flat on his face, … _fall._

Frisk quickens their pace, coming up to his side as he's getting up. "Are you alright?" They ask carefully, their eyes locked on the angry bruise they can see forming on his cheek. "You're going to have a bruise …"

He groans. "Aw man. Again?" His tail comes around to rub at the mark. "Well, whatever. Let's keep going."

They chew on their lip almost nervously, their fingers twitching as they struggle with their words. "If … it hurts, I can help you. There are a lot of cinnabunnies back at the house." The fact that just eating could cure injuries and wounds down here was still something foreign to them; Frisk was used to holding ice packs and cold cloths to their bruises and wounds yet, down here, they could eat something and it'd be gone before long. "And hot chocolate."

"Huh? Nah. It's cool! Thanks, though." MK shakes the snow from his scales, offering Frisk a wide grin. "Wanna race the rest of the way?"

They sigh, but agree regardless and let Chara do the running for them. "Just don't trip!" The ghost teases, and although they don't grin back—most of their interaction with MK was with Frisk in control; it'd be too out of place—the amusement is clear in their eyes; in the red that took over brown, with light and childish glee still visible in the depths. "Ready?"

"Go!"

As it turns out, Monsters and Humans is exactly like Cops and Robbers. Frisk still doesn't understand what the game is supposed to be, but with eight—nine, if you include Chara's attempts at explaining the game as well—explanations they're pretty sure they get the gist. MK, Cinnamon, Frisk, and a fourth kid they never learned the name of are assigned as monsters, while Jebbin, his sister, Butter, and Moki are the humans. The object they're tasked to protect ends up being some overdue book from the library, which Chara just rolls their eyes at.

The game lasts an absurdly long time; it's almost two full hours before Moki successfully snatches the book from them and makes it all the way to the river without being caught, and the bear monster erupts into a fit of giggles when it's finally over. "We won! Humans won, take that!" They fire off fake guns with their fingers before collapsing back into the snow, their chest heaving for air. "That was fun—let's do it again!"

"Sounds dumb," Cinnamon mumbles, sighing as he settles down on a pile of snow. His ears twitch as everyone else settles down as well, turning to look at Frisk oddly when he notices they're the only one still standing. "You just gonna stand there?"

Frisk sits down immediately. "Yo, don't be mean," MK tells him, "Frisk was the one who did most of the safekeeping after all! You didn't do anything, Cinnamon."

"So?" The rabbit prompts. "You just kept falling—"

"I tagged at least half of everyone who got tagged!"

" _So?"_

Moki wiggles over to Frisk's side, holding out the borrowed book with an excited gleam in their eyes. "So, what'd'ya say?"

"I—" they turn to look at MK and Cinnamon, who are still arguing over something; or rather, MK is arguing, while Cinnamon riles him up with halfhearted replies. "I don't know."

"Aw, c'mon Frisk! Don't be like that." Moki opens the book, propping it open on their thigh as they point at a particular line of text. "Have you ever been to the Librarby? You just got here a few days ago, right?" They nod, and Moki laughs again. "Wow! You're really missing out. Here, look." They scoot closer and it takes all of Frisk's self-control to not move away. Their skin feels itchier than they can remember it being as of late, with the close proximity of the monster, and Chara just pats their shoulder and takes a seat on Moki's other side. "This is a report that Jebbin had to do for school about Boss monsters." They trace a furry digit across the line as they read, "'Boss monsters are extremely rare in the underground. The most famous Boss monster is the King, King Asgore. Boss monsters live for a really long time, and only age when their children do.' When someone writes a good school report, it gets published in the Librarby for everyone to read. It's like getting a paper published!"

Chara's expression darkens and Frisk looks at them for a few moments before hesitantly reaching for the book. "Can I see it?"

"Sure!" Moki hands them the book without any protest. "Say, Frisk. How long are you gonna be here for? Are you gonna join our class, too?"

They look down at the book, flipping through to the next report. It's by an unnamed student, just like the last one had been, though Frisk doesn't doubt that Moki knows exactly who wrote it. The bear monster knows almost everyone—they wonder if it's because of her father's position as the mayor, even if the title wasn't official, or if it's just how she is. "… I don't know. It's up to Papyrus, I guess."

"You should ask him to let you. I _know_ it sounds crazy, to actually ask to go to school, but it'd be awesome! You're ten, right? Just like me and MK!" They look at the still squabbling pair with what could almost be considered fondness shining in their eyes, and adjust the bow holding their bangs back. "And Cinnamon, but you know how he is; he just loves to pretend he's a teenager, but he's the youngest of us three."

They close the book quietly. "I'll ask."

"Great!" Moki pauses. "So, uh … does that mean you _don't_ wanna go another round?"

Frisk looks past them at Chara, who has their arms crossed over their chest. They're glaring into the snow with enough frustration that Frisk can almost see the snow melting. "Maybe later," they respond, climbing to their feet. "I can go return this for you."

They blink. "Oh—thanks, Frisk! Jebbin's really been putting it off."

_Why'd that stupid slime kid check out his own book, anyways?_ Chara takes a closer look at the cover; 'Fifth Grade Essays: 2118 edition', and rolls their eyes. _He embarrassed or something? It was a pretty crappy essay. I can't believe it actually got published … hey, wanna keep it and read the rest of the essays?_

Frisk goes to reply, only for MK to cut them off with a yelp. "Yo! Are you leaving already? Here—lemme walk you back, dude!" He wacks Cinnamon with his tail, laughing at the outraged expression on the rabbit's face, before scrambling over to them. "See you guys in a bit!"

"Bye Frisk, MK!" Moki waves. There's a halfhearted repeat of this from the other kids, still lounging in the snow, and Frisk clutches the book tighter. "Remember to ask Papyrus about what I said!"

"… Right," they mumble, before heading on their way. MK comes to a running stop at their side, skidding wildly before landing with a yelp. They wince when they see his head smack into a rock, rather than snow. "Are you alright?"

He groans, but nods. "It's gonna take more than that to take me down." He shakes the snow off for the umpteenth time that day. "… But, uh … hey, dude. Can I have a cinnabunny?"

Frisk almost smiles—they catch it right before it can show and bite their lip hard. "… Yeah. I'll get one after …" They look down at the book in their hands, "I've returned this."

"Great! Thanks, dude; you're the best."

They skip the Librarby entirely, coming to a stop outside the house. Frisk fishes their key chain out of their pocket, shoving the key into the door and cracking it open. MK follows them inside without a word and Frisk places their shoes right by the door as they turn the lights on. The house is exactly as it was when they left, and they set the book down on the couch before heading into the kitchen to grab one of the numerous cinnabunnies that have taken up residence in the house. It's the only thing, besides spaghetti, that they've really been eating; Sans gets Grillby's every so often but they've never been invited to come, nor have they ever bothered to ask to go. Sans barely looks at them—which is fine. Chara prefers it that way, and Frisk just wants to see them happy.

MK takes it with his tail, offering them thanks as he shoves it into his mouth. Frisk can see the bruises and cuts that had accumulated on his face throughout the past two hours steadily disappearing until his skin is completely smooth; as if it'd never been damaged in the first place. "So what was Moki asking you about?"

They look back at the book they'd failed to return. "They wanted to know if I was going to join your class."

"Oh! _Yooo!"_ He bounces around in excitement at the idea. "Dude! That'd be _awesome—_ it's been ages since anyone new joined our school!" He catches their curious gaze and elaborates, "Before we moved here from the Capital, I went to a real big school. There were always tons of new monsters coming in and out; but Snowdin's a lot smaller, so no one new ever comes into school, much less our class."

"Oh." They look down at their hands. Frisk had been in the accelerated program back on Earth; it gave them a reason to stay out, rather than go home after school, which always made their mother happy. Even if it wasn't exactly the safest thing for a ten-year-old to be doing, they'd always vastly preferred to be out until dark rather than go home and deal with their mother. "You're from the capital?"

He blinks, before nodding. "Yeah. My sister's still there; she's the royal scientist, dude! Did you know?" They furrow their brow just slightly, not recognizing the title.

_Wait,_ what? Chara says suddenly. _That's not possible—the royal scientist isn't a girl! He's a—_

"Pretty neat, right?" MK interrupts their incoming rant without even realizing it and Frisk tears their attention away from the ghost so they can listen to him talk. "And since my birthday's coming up soon, my parents are going to bring me down to visit her! I wonder if I'll get to see Undyne." His grin grows. "Man, I'm so excited! I can't _WAIT!"_

"When's your birthday?" They dare to ask.

"Next month! Twenty-five days from now. Make sure and get me a great present, dude! I mean—if you're still here, that is." He looks at the clock suddenly, sighing as he does so. "Aw, I gotta go. Everyone's probably waiting for me—I'll see you later, right, Frisk? Come and play some more!"

They hesitate, but nod and see him out. Once the house is empty once more, with only them and Chara to fill the silence, they open up the door to their room and turn the rest of the lights off, making sure to grab the book as they do so. "What did you want to look at, Chara?"

_Here, let me._ They take over smoothly, sitting down on the bed and cracking the book open. "I wanna see if all these kids suck at writing like Jebbin."

_… That's not very nice,_ Frisk scolds, but there's no weight to their words. Chara just shrugs. _Are you looking for something specific?_

"No," they reply. "I'm just curious, is all. Don't worry about it."

Frisk watches on for the next hour as Chara scours the book for something unknown to them, letting their friend's mumbles and questions soothe them into a calmness that'd been sorely absent as of late.

* * *

When it becomes apparent that neither of the brothers plans to barge into the room without knocking, as well as the fact that the bathroom really is just for us, Frisk brings the knife to their arm. Chara watches silently, wanting nothing more than to tear their eyes away from the bloody sight, but refuse; if they couldn't stop Frisk from hurting themselves, the least they could do was be with them through the entire thing. They keep watch as Frisk cleans up their wounds, serve as a second set of eyes to make sure no blood gets missed while they're cleaning up—

Chara hates the fact that they're complicit in the whole thing, but they can't do much of anything about it. Plus, Sans could never be allowed to know about the knife they had hidden away; they saw him approximately twice every day, unless Papyrus dragged him down for more 'socialization' with their guest, but that was still two times more than they would've liked to see the skeleton.

_You didn't ask Papyrus like you said you would,_ Chara points out one day, as they wait for Papyrus to finish cooking breakfast. _What are you going to tell Moki when we see them next?_

Frisk shrugs, itching at one of the cuts through their sleeve. Ever since their discovery, their arms had been itching like crazy; the cold didn't help in the least. In fact, it seemed to make the whole thing _worse._ "I don't know."

They hum, blowing a piece of hair out of their eyes. _You know,_ they start again, _I hate to admit this. But it's not bad here._

"… Papyrus has been kind," Frisk agrees. "They both have … and everyone in town, too." They drew their knees to their chest, breathing out softly as they tried to will the itch away. "I don't deserve any of this."

_… Not this again. Frisk—_ Chara sits down across from them, leaning forward to stare at their friend, _you can't just say that without a good reason._

"I'm not," they reply. "I've done terrible things." Their voice trails off to a whisper, a haunted glare covering the dull brown of their eyes. "I'm a monster, Chara; I don't deserve any of this kindness. I'm—"

_I swear to God, if you say you're bad …_ Frisk draws their legs closer to their body and Chara reaches out to take one of their hands in their own transparent one. _If you're bad, then so am I._

They shake their head desperately. "No; you're good, Chara. I'm bad and you're good."

The ghost growls. _Stop it! You can't just say stupid stuff like that without any good reason to back it up. What makes_ you _so bad, huh?_

"… I hurt people," they whisper, after a long moment of silence. "I hurt you. I'm a monster." They flinch when Chara roughly shoves them, tumbling off the bed in a heap. "Ow—!"

_And there you go, again, spewing all that crap._ Their eyes are practically glowing despite the brightness of the room, and Chara floats down so they're directly across from Frisk. _I hurt people too, y'know. I hurt you._

"You only hurt people because I was too weak to survive." Frisk closes their eyes tiredly, letting their head rest against the wood floor without protest. "If I'd just been stronger, then none of this would've happened."

_Bullshit. That's not the real reason and you know it._ A knock interrupts their incoming rant, and they huff. _You're off the hook now, but I'm not gonna let this slide. Once they're both gone for work, we're finishing this discussion._ Chara pulls them to their feet, pushing Frisk towards the door, and Frisk simply sighs in defeat.

It's not a new conversation. It repeats almost daily, if not even more frequently than that; but Chara refuses to let their friend's self depreciative words go without a fight, even if they lose it every time.

It's a hopeless battle that they never stop fighting.

"GOOD MORNING, FRISK!" Papyrus greets, when they step into the kitchen. Sans is slouched back in his own chair and simply offers a wave, and from their spot beside Frisk, Chara glares at the skeleton. "EVERYTHING IS ALMOST READY. WOULD YOU LIKE MILK, OR ORANGE JUICE THIS MORNING?"

Frisk waits for Chara's answer, and when it doesn't come frowns. "Orange juice …?" It's phrased as a question, and there's a very obvious hesitance in their voice without Chara's word to back them up. They look over at the ghost, who is looking everywhere but at them, and sigh as they take a seat. There's already a cinnabunny out, and it's soon joined by a platter of spaghetti and a mug full of orange juice. "Thank you."

"OF COURSE. NOW, DIG IN!"

Sans and Papyrus make idle chatter while they all eat, with Frisk mainly picking at their food as per usual. They'd never had spaghetti before coming to live with the brothers, but they're fairly sure it's not supposed to be so … _crunchy._ Still, it makes up both breakfast and dinner at the household; they're mostly used to it, by now, even if it isn't the most palpable of cuisines. "so, kid," Sans says suddenly. "we're goin' shopping today."

Chara frowns. _What?_

"yeah; pap 'n i thought it's 'bout time you got some new clothes." Their confusion is evident even without words, so the skeleton continues his explanation, "town news says a storm's coming, _snow_ we thought it'd be best to get you somethin' before to _marrow_ comes along." Papyrus groans at the puns. "anyways, took the day off for it, so you're gonna have'ta put off playin' with your friends until we're done shopping."

Frisk sighs softly, but agrees regardless. They have no money to their name, and Sans knew that; either he was going to embarrass them in the store, or he planned on paying for it himself—both were bad. _If he tries anything, I'll put my foot through his stupid grin,_ Chara threatens, but considering how many times they'd done it in the past their threat held no merit. _Want me to take over for it?_

They silently shake their head.

Papyrus leaves for work once they're done eating, leaving just the older skeleton and two children in the house. "right. well, go get ready; just lemme know when you're ready to go."

When the door to their room is closed behind them, Chara whirls on Frisk. _I'm letting you go for now, but don't get used to it,_ they snap. _Whenever the trash bag is gone, I'm gonna keep lecturing you._

Frisk sighs. "I know, Chara."

Getting dressed reveals the white scars from their cuts; monster food had been healing them so quickly, it didn't even matter anymore. It had lead to a steady, and rapid, progression in the deepness and frequency of the cuts—and although Frisk wasn't concerned, Chara was. _You know, Frisk,_ the ghost starts, as they start to layer on their shirts and jackets, _it won't always be like this._

Frisk tilts their head, and Chara elaborates, _The injuries; you won't always have to hurt yourself._ They look away, fiddling with the collar of their jacket. _And you won't always be lucky enough to have them looking the other way. What if they find out?_

"I won't let that happen," Frisk answers softly. "I promise."

_It's not something you can go promising; Sans remembers. If we screw up and he catches you hurting yourself, not even a RESET will fix it. He'll still remember—and then what? Huh?_ Chara crosses their arms firmly, staring down at Frisk. _Or—what if you mess up, and you go too deep? You could die._

"If I die, then I die," they say simply, as if it's the most straightforward thing in the world. "I'll just LOAD, in that case."

They groan. _You can't just—no! No, you can't just LOAD, Frisk!_ Frisk tilts their head, as if to ask why, and Chara answers, _Because; what if something goes wrong, and you lose the ability to LOAD or SAVE? Or RESET? What happens then?_

Frisk struggles for a good few seconds before managing, "I'll really die, then."

_And you're okay with that?_ Chara prompts. There's no response. _I really mean it, you know. It won't always be like this._

" … If you say so, Chara."

They exit their room after a few more minutes. Sans is sprawled out on the couch and raises a brow at them. "ready to go?"

Frisk looks down at their sock covered feet, then over to their dirty shoes. “ … Yes, I’m ready.”

“you’re missin’ something there, buddy.” He shrugs, getting up off the couch and stretching before heading over to them and propping the door open, motioning with his head for them to lead. “let’s go.”

Frisk pulls on their shoes and tugs their scarf further up their face. It's far earlier than usual; when they meet up with MK and the other kids, there's usually at least an hour or two between the time Papyrus and Sans leave for work and the time they leave the house. "beautiful day, isn't it?" Sans says simply, his hands shoved in his pockets as they walk through town. "hard to believe tomorrow everything's gonna be  _snowed in._ " 

_Ugh, that was awful._ Chara floats beside Frisk, with Sans leading them by about a half step.  _Wait … does that mean—are we going to have to stay with this guy all day?_ They realize with a groan.  _What the hell?_

“listen, there’s _snow_ need to fear; snowdin’s a great town, with some great monsters.” Sans waves to Cinnamon's older sister, while Frisk nods to the leashed rabbit. They couldn't figure out exactly what was going on with those two, or why Cinnamon's older sister put him on a leash, but they weren't one to pry for information. “and we’re gonna get’cha fixed right up.”

Frisk tilts their head, slightly concerned he’d somehow figured out what they been doing, but Sans just shrugs. “you’ll see.” They enter the same shop that Frisk and Chara had stolen bandages from before their recent RESET and the woman behind the counter smiles at them, her whiskers twitching amicably. “Hey, Sans! Nice to see you. Who’s your little friend? This the one everyone in town is talking about?”

“kid belongs to a friend of mine,” he replies easily, ignoring her last question, “they're callin’ in a favour. but _tibia_ nest with you, i’d say it’s just because they wanted a change of scenery.”

The shop owner smiles softly at Frisk, nodding in understanding. “From the capital, right? It’s a bit of a different atmosphere in this little town, but I think you’ll like it—especially if you’re with the duo.” She looks at Sans who shrugs. “So, what are you in for?”

“clothes. y’know; sweaters, scarves, all the things that furry folks don’t need.” Frisk observes the shop, having neglected to do so the first time they came, and wonders if the woman would give them bandages if they asked without telling Sans or Papyrus. “guess some yarn, too.”

She rolls her eyes, but the gesture is completely playful. “Well, us  _furry folks_ at least are equipped for the cold.” She looks over at Frisk, whose eyes are still locked in on one of the displays. “Alright, honey; come over real quick so I can see what size you need.”

Frisk hesitates, but Chara refuses to come out and do it for them. This woman seemed kind; sincere. But strangers could hurt them—what if she tried to kill them, like the rest of the Underground had? Snowdin hadn't done anything wrong, and everyone in town had been remarkably kind to someone like them, but that didn't mean they could completely trust a random adult.

They're suddenly much more aware of the skeleton in the room and Frisk pushes down those emotions as far as they can, locking them up tight as they approach her. “kid’s shy,” Sans said suddenly, “so don’t touch’em without askin'. you might just spook the skeleton out of them.”

All it composes of, thankfully, is the woman checking the tags of their current ones and searching for an appropriate size. “So kid, how old are you?” She asks idly. “My sister’s got a little boy; eight now, I think. I know you've been hanging around MK and Cinnamon, but my sister's kid doesn't go out much.”

Frisk swallows hard. “I’m ten.”

“Ten? Wow, you’re a bit on the small side, aren’t you?” They don’t know how to react to that. “But no worries. Never seen a monster like you before, but then again I’ve never left Snowdin.” With her back to them, she doesn’t notice the way their grip on their sweater tightens, or how their eyes bleed to red as Chara slips out. They'd refused to do so earlier, but for whatever reason the comment had struck a chord with Frisk in a way that it hadn't been as of late. “Small town, small world. You know?”

She turns around and holds out a sweater to check, only to shake her head and grab another. “There we go … Sans!” She calls out, “How much you need?”

“uh. dunno, how many clothes do kids need?”

She rolls her eyes and looks down at Chara softly. “Men. Right?”

Chara forces their lips into some bastardized version of a smile as they agree, “Yeah.”

Frisk comes back out when they leave the store, with five sweaters, three shirts, a scarf, and four pairs of pants stuffed into a bag. All the shirts and sweaters have stripes on them, and Chara quickly tells Frisk, _In the Underground, if you wear stripes, you’re a kid. Don’t ask me why though, I have no idea._

“wasn’t too bad, huh?” Sans asks, offering them the cinnabunny he’d bought before they left. As per usual, he places it in their hand rather than making them take it from him. “like i said, real good folks. i’m sure you’ll _love_ ’em.”

Frisk nods silently, picking slowly at the bun when Chara tells them to eat it themselves. “well, go put those away. after, we’re gonna talk.”

The pit that forms in their stomach almost eats them whole. Not even MK and Moki running up to them and urging them to come to play—begging Sans to let them come play, as well—is enough to relieve the fear in their gut. Sans waving the two children away with a simple, "maybe later, squirts. got some business to deal with right now," doesn't help either.

* * *

The living room had become a sort of equal zone in their days of staying there. Sans has entered their room only once; never again since, and he's definitely never invited them back to his. Papyrus invites them to his room for storytime every night—they always refuse—, and comes in more often than Sans, but it's not nearly enough to take notice of. Most of the time, it's just a knock on their door to let them know they're needed.

But there's no Papyrus. Chara can't even bring themselves to continue scolding Frisk like they'd been planning to after breakfast was over with, too focused on the anxiety they know Frisk is repressing as much as they can to even think about doing such a thing.  _It’ll be fine,_ Chara attempts, watching as their friend folds the clothes that had been bought and places them in the proper drawers. Frisk hid everything almost perfectly from strangers, but the two were too in tuned and entwined with one another for them to successfully hide anything anymore.  _I’ll make sure it’s fine._

Frisk folds the last shirt and closes the drawer quietly, releasing the breath they’d been holding. “I can do it.”

_Okay, but there’s two of us. So if you need—_

“It’ll be fine, Chara.” Frisk repeats their words right back at them and the ghost crosses their arms petulantly. “We’ve … faced a lot worse.”

_… Papyrus would be pretty pissed if Sans hurt us,_ Chara admits. The taller skeleton had become almost a mother hen; whatever ‘illness’ Sans had told him they had was evidently enough for him to worry about them constantly. Chara's curious about the exact details, but would rather eat their own tongue before asking Sans for any details about his lie. They'd become fond of Papyrus, though, and refused to ask him for that very reason alone; explaining why they had questions about their own 'illness' would be hard to explain, as well.

As much as they hated it, it was easier to go along with whatever Sans had made up about them.

He's seated on the left side of the couch when they come in and Frisk hovers by the door, their expression carefully blank and devoid of whatever emotion Chara wants to claim they're feeling. It wasn’t _theirs._ No matter how many times the ghost argued it was, that Frisk _could_ and _did_ feel, they stayed firm to what they knew was true.

They were a monster in a human’s skin. Emotions were bad and would get them _hurt_ , and emotions were very much a human thing.

“you just gonna stand there?” Sans breaks their train of thought easily and Frisk glances at him for a split second before edging over to the couch. He sighs, pushing himself up from his slouched position so he could throw one arm over the back of it. “listen. frisk.” They looked at him again, this time with a sliver of curiosity. Sans rarely called them by their name; it was always something else; ‘kid’, ‘buddy’, and even, once, ‘buckaroo’. But never ‘Frisk’. “let’s just address the _skeleton_ in the room, before anything else.” He points to the blankets at the other end of the couch—the spot that had, unofficially, been marked as theirs. “you’re free to be scared, angry, or whatever the hell you feel to or about me; but standin’ up the entire time ain’t an option. so **sit down.** ”

Frisk feels the hair on the back of their neck rise, their grip on the arm of the couch tightening a fraction, and they tense their muscles momentarily before settling down in their spot. They place the blankets in the middle and keep their knees to their chest, and Sans nods. “‘whatever makes you feel safest, i suppose.” Chara glares, sitting themselves right down on the blankets as if to act as a shield, and although Frisk knows it will do no good should anything go wrong, it’s a comforting action. “right, so. talk.”

Frisk waits. And waits. And waits; but Sans keeps quiet, staring them down to the point where it becomes _uncomfortable._ They want to ask what he’s doing, but their lips are glued shut. They couldn’t ask questions, it wasn’t _safe_ and they couldn’t be rude and speak out of turn.

They couldn’t—they _couldn’t._

_What are you planning?_ Chara asks, knowing full well Sans can’t hear them. _What do you want from us?_

One minute becomes two, then three, and by four the anxiety is all but eating at them. Chara’s been trying to manage it by snapping and cursing and all around being rude to Sans, but Frisk has just been … managing.

Somehow, they always managed. Their expression was blank as usual and they kept their breathing as regulated as possible but—

But the anxiety wouldn’t go away.

They wanted to ask. They wanted to know _why_ he had told them it was time to talk, then said nothing; was it a test? Their parents had never tested them like this; they never hesitated to say what they wanted to or about Frisk, but maybe this was a _new_ test, one that their parents just hadn’t had a chance to try yet.

Frisk had to pass, or they’d get in trouble.

Ten minutes passed and finally, just finally, they’re able to muster up enough anxiety-induced courage to ask, “Why?” Their voice is soft and tone as neutral as they can make it, in case they get in trouble. If they’re quiet, if they’re _good_ then it hurt less. They get punished less—except, when the punishment is for being that way in the first place.

Frisk is so _afraid._

“why what?” Sans shoots back instantly, and it doesn’t help in the least.

Frisk feels Chara rest a hand on theirs in silent support. It was better to watch and provide support silently, at this point. Sans had something he wanted and Chara refused to be a distraction. They had to concentrate, for Frisk.

“Why … “ they can’t find the words and feel a quick burst of panic in their chest. ' _It’s a test, you’re going to fail you’re failing failing failing—'_

They were going to get in trouble. There were either two tests or one; but Frisk was doomed to fail regardless, because if it was the first one, they’d failed—and if it was the second one, they didn’t know the answer.

_It’s okay, you’re okay._ Chara knows Frisk wants them to come out, but they can’t. They want to protect their friend, but—

But shielding them every time they got scared wasn’t an option. Not anymore, because it had stopped being protection long ago. They’d offered before the conversation, thinking it’d be just like last time, but were wrong; and this wasn’t the time for them to take over, as much as Frisk might want them to do so.

This wasn't for Chara. It wasn't their turn.

This was for Frisk, as much as they hated the skeleton for doing it to them.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper, hugging their knees to their chest and waiting for the backlash.

Sans just leans back further and says, “what’d i tell you about apologies, kid?”

Frisk _knows._ But this is appropriate; didn’t he see that? How could he _not?_ “Because … “ their toes curl so hard it hurts. “I don’t know the answer.”

“hm. doesn’t seem like a good reason to apologize,” he replies, “nothin’ wrong with that. if you’ve gotta question, ask it.”

_'I can’t,'_ Frisk wants to say. ' _I can’t, because it’s not safe.'_

But they can’t, and Sans isn’t breaking;  _they were_ but that wasn’t allowed, wasn't _safe_ , wasn’t—

“W … “ Their voice catches in their throat, but Sans is patient. “Why … “ They can’t _do_ it and even worse is, they're stuttering. Their parents always hated when they stuttered; it got them in more trouble, so Frisk had done their best to train themselves out of the habit _._ “W-Why—”

“why _what_ , kid? what are you tryna’ ask?” Frisk expects him to sound angry, but instead, he’s completely and utterly calm. So calm it scares them. “skeleton got your tongue?”

Finally, they break. A strange sound, something a mix between a cry and a hum, escapes their throat, and Frisk squeezes their eyes shut as they feel Chara squeeze their hand tighter. They want to dig their nails into their skin, or rip it open with their knife—just to get it all to _stop._

For the first time in years, something other than pain or memories of Hell leaves them crying. It’s nearly silent; a few tears that escape their eyes before an entire dam breaks and they go from hugging their knees to hiding in them. Sans finally takes mercy on them and speaks.

“frisk. you can ask me questions—got it?” They shake their head and he shoots back, “and why’s that?”

“It’s _bad.”_ They force the word out with as much strength as they can, willing,  _begging_ him to understand. “It’s not safe.” 

Chara wishes they could do more than try and keep themselves calm and hope it’s enough to help Frisk.

“is it now?” Frisk nods. “‘kay then. why’s it bad. what’s so dangerous ‘bout it?” Sans offers the questions without any force; they’re practically a suggestion, with how little conviction is behind his words.

Frisk swallows their tears and blurts out the words, punishment be damned. They would be punished anyways for crying in the first place; talking and stuttering would worsen their punishment, but they didn't care at that moment. “Because— _because_ , it’s not. It’s _not._ Questions are bad, a-and bad things get you punished.”

“hm. questions are bad?” Sans repeats. “what about when your little friend asks them?” Both children stiffen and his smile tilts a bit. “yeah, i know ‘bout them. can’t see them, but i know they’re ‘round and i know they borrow your body sometimes. so: what about them?”

_How?_ Chara wonders, but Frisk is too busy defending their friend to even bother with the question, much less denying the claim.

“Chara is _good.”_ They look up suddenly, tearful brown eyes meeting pinpricks of white, and Sans notices that they look just a little less dead. “Chara can—it’s fine, they can ask—whatever they want, they can ask. They’re _good.”_

The explanation is messy and jumbled; all around, it makes no sense; talks itself in circles, but Sans accepts it anyway. “and you’re not?”

“No.” There’s too much weight and belief in those words for a ten-year-old. “I’m not.”

“and everyone else?”

“They’re good _too.”_

Sans sighs. It’s the first real thing he’s done, the entire time. “kid,” he starts, “i dunno where you got this idea from; that only certain people and monsters are allowed to ask questions, but lemme tell you somethin’: you’re wrong.”

“No, I’m—”

“what makes you _bad_ , then?” He dangles the question in front of them, curious if they’ll bite, or if he’s hit the limit for today. He had no clear path for where this would go; hell, he'd half-expected Frisk to sit there until Papyrus came back from work. The fact that they'd gotten this far was a miracle on its own. “why’re you any different than us other folks? why _just_ you?”

Frisk struggles for an answer. ‘ _Just because’_ is all they can think of, but they just—they want this _over with._ “It … I was—I was just born bad.” They settle with all they know; their parent's words, which had filled their head since they weren’t old enough to know any better, whether they realized it or not. “I don’t know _why._ But I just—I was. I _was.”_

Demon spawn, monster, freak—

“I’m just a monster,” they finish weakly. Their tears are slowing but everything hurts. They want to hurt, but don’t want to _be_ hurt; they don’t want to be punished. “Not a good monster; a bad one. And bad ones—”

“don’t ask questions. right?” Frisk nods, hoping, _begging_ he understands, but— “nah, kid. even if you were a ‘bad monster’, you could ask whatever the hell you want.” He leans back, observing the wreck of a child before him. Their eyes haven’t gone red at all, not once, from the time they’d come in to now. “but you’re not, so … guess that whole reasonin’ of yours doesn’t apply. and it never will.”

Frisk can’t argue anymore; they’re too tired, too drained from the tears and flood of emotions that had hit them like a train. They feel vulnerable; exposed. It doesn’t feel _safe._

“so. like i said earlier. why what?” He prompts. Frisk considers not replying. They consider LOADING or even a complete RESET, but even then Sans would know, and they would still be vulnerable until they managed to glue their walls and barriers back together; if they even could.

“Why won’t you talk?” The question feels foolish, after breaking and crying—after everything they knew had been broken apart. “Why aren’t you saying anything.”

Sans leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment, before he answers, “‘cause the talk wasn’t about me, it was about _you._ what would _i_ need to talk about?” He offers them his usual grin. “this is about and _for_ you. not me.”

Frisk hiccups. “Why?”

“‘cause this ain’t exactly healthy, frisk.” And there’s their name again. “somethin’s wrong. you don’t see it, but that mindset of yours is a dangerous way to go. so. just gotta walk you there so you _can_ see it.”

Frisk trembles. Another question burns at their lips, but they can’t—

“ask it.”

They’re scared, they’re _so scared they could be sick but—_

Chara squeezes their hand again, and Frisk forces it out, their voice small and broken and _fearful,_ “Am I in tr—trouble?”

“nope.” Sans doesn’t even hesitate.

“Am I going to—to—to be punished?” they rush the last bit out, feeling their courage disappearing rapidly.

Sans shakes his head, looking a bit exasperated, but there’s no anger or frustration in his expression or his voice. “frisk. why would you be punished if you’re not in trouble?”

He gets up then, groaning when he hears his bones, somehow, crack. “damn, i’m gettin’ old.” He picks up one of the blankets and holds it out to Frisk, saying simply, “do you want it?”

They look at him and he looks back. They look at the blanket, then him; he looks back, and—

They take it from his outstretched hand and see his ever permanent grin grow. “relax, kid. everything’s good; take it easy.”

He leaves the two of them on the couch to head into the kitchen and Frisk buries their face into the blanket as Chara sits beside them, resting their head on their shoulder. _He’s right, you know,_ Chara says suddenly. Even though they’d done their best to keep calm, for Frisk, their friend’s emotions had been nearly too much. _Everything’s fine._

Sans comes back with a mug of hot chocolate, offering it to them like before. It’s a tiny bit easier to accept, and for once Frisk doesn’t push Chara to drink for them. Sans turns on the TV, but picks up some thick book instead of watching; Frisk watches him instead, searching for any sign of deceit or ill intention, and find nothing.

“How did you know?” It takes a while before they can ask, an entire episode of Mettaton’s show passing and a second one beginning in the time elapsed. There's a deep humiliation at being broken down so quickly and Frisk still expects some kind of backlash to come their way, but it's too late to go back now. They've broken so many rules, breaking this one again couldn't do much worse.

Sans glances away from the book. Frisk swears they see another book inside of it. “hm. ‘s just obvious, kid. your eyes change, how you speak changes, how you stand and hold yourself changes.” He shrugs. “not a bother to me. explains your SOUL, though. you try'na split it for them?”

"No." They swallow hard, their grip on the mug shaky. "It's not on purpose."

"hm." Sans is quiet for a good minute before stating, "well, that's pretty bad. suppose it'd be best to bring you to the royal scientist, at some point."

Frisk stares down at the steam. " … MK's sister," they whisper.

"heard of her?" He asks casually. "alphy's's pretty cool. works herself down to the _bone_ , though." He flips a page of the book, fully aware that Frisk is watching him but not caring nearly enough to look up. They look back down after a few seconds and Sans sighs, finally raising his eyes to their small figure. "you can go back to hidin', or whatever it is you do all day, now."

It was their cue to leave; Frisk gets up immediately and Chara looks between the two of them before gritting their teeth, offering Sans the middle finger, and floating after Frisk. " … I'm sorry," Frisk mumbles, as they crack the door to their room open. "I'm really—" they swallow hard, but force themselves to finish their question even though they'd rather not, "not in trouble?"

"nope." He pops the p. "and you're free to do whatever, kid.  _snow_ need to run off with your tail between your legs because you cried a little bit; no bother to me, anyways."

_Shut up,_ Chara snaps.  _God, I wish I had a body; I just want to kick his smug face in. And he even knows I exist, so it's not like it'd be a surprise._

They lock the door of their room behind them and let their back slide along the wood until they're seated on the ground with their legs pulled up to their chest. Chara sits beside them silently, and after a long silence, Frisk sighs and hides their head completely. "I … don't feel good, Chara." Their voice is barely loud enough to be heard, even in the silence of the room, and there's a haunted look in their eyes. "What do I do?"

They struggle for an answer to the feeble question.  _I dunno. Guess we could go play?_ They suggest, but it's halfhearted. Neither of the children feel up to playing, and Chara blinks when Frisk lurches to their feet and stumbles over to their backpack.  _Hey—wait, what are you doing?_

Frisk removes their knife and feels a tremor go down their spine. There were too many emotions being exposed to the air—it wasn't safe. Their walls were shattered, and Frisk couldn't afford to pick up all the individual pieces—so they let the knife do it for them. 

They step into the bathroom before doing so and let the crimson stain the tile of the sink and floor as pain shoots through the limb, up into their shoulder and throat. When numbness doesn't come they do it again, and again, and again; until Chara feels nauseous at the sight and Frisk can't feel a thing. 

Can't even feel enough to bandage the wounds. Just lets them bleed, dull brown locked on the mess that they'd made. There are no words that can fix the situation, so Chara simply sits down and wraps their arms around Frisk's shoulders, wishing they could do more to help.  _You should clean it up,_ they attempt, after a few minutes of silence. Frisk blinks at them, and Chara tries to pry their fingers away from the hilt of the knife.  _What if the trash bag sees? We can't let him know, right?_

Frisk swallows hard. " … Right." But they don't make any immediate motion to move. Finally, when it's too much to stand, Chara takes over—they ignore the way their arm aches and burns with each movement, going through the painstaking process they'd become so familiar with seeing their friend do. It was different from usual, considering the sheer amount of injuries this time around, but they don't care.

If Frisk wasn't going to take care of themselves, Chara would just do it for them.

"I guess we'll just take a nap, huh?" They mumble, wincing when the water scalds the cuts. They're deeper than usual, which is concerning; they can't afford to go take anything from the kitchen with Sans being home. Truthfully, Chara would rather starve than see his face—but if worst came to worst, they'd suck up their hatred.

For Frisk. They'd do it for Frisk, because it was their fault this had happened.

"I'll keep watch, okay?" Chara prompts, changing out of the thick layers and into one of the borrowed sweatshirts. Papyrus dwarfed them in size, but had been more than willing to offer them some of the things he'd outgrown. It did no good when they had to go outside, but worked well for casual lounging around and sleeping. It was all long sleeves, too. "So try and get some rest. And then, when the trash goes out, we can sneak out and grab some cinnabunnies to heal this right up."

_I don't want to._  Chara blinks at their response, feeling Frisk take control once more. "I want to leave these."

_Why?_ The response baffles them.  _You're bleeding—and hurt! Why do you want to leave it like that when we could heal it right up?_

Frisk curls up underneath the blankets, shrugging. "It's punishment."

_For?_  

"For disobeying." The answer is dull, recited from memory and years of conditioning. "I broke the rules."

_Your parent's shitty rules, maybe, yeah. But why should you obey those?_

They roll over to look at the ghost and Chara has to look away. Frisk had been _living_ ; their motions had felt lighter and their eyes less dull as the days stretched on, with MK and Moki to fill the emptiness. It was an improvement; a big improvement, especially for such a short amount of time. But they could almost see their friend regressing, falling back on self-inflicted pain to keep everything under control.

It was too much.

_Just go to bed. I'm gonna keep watch; I'll have to go around, but I'll let you know if he's coming._   Chara reaches out to grip Frisk's hand tightly before letting go and flying through the door that linked them to Snowdin.  _So sleep; I know we just got up an hour or two ago, but there's no way we can go play like this._

Frisk sighs, but agrees without protest. "I'm sorry," they say, once the ghost is out of sight. "Chara … you won't leave me, right? You're not going to leave—"

_Hell no._

They swallow dryly. " … Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought! Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Question: if I made a playlist on YT for songs I listen to while writing this, would anyone be interested in it?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you search for what's been lost, or adapt to what you've found?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote and edited the entire thing (I tend to finish and touch up all the errors in here), and forgot to c/p the chapter before pressing preview.
> 
> AO3 logged me out and I lost the entire thing. So ... if there are errors, sorry. I'm absolutely pissed at myself and the site, so I don't really have much to say. I do hope everyone had a great Christmas though, and a happy holidays.
> 
> YT playlist: /playlist?list=PLkXhAn9oMxGlQzPaD0KyItuWN_eEhXdFz the folder on my computer is compiled of over 100 songs, many of which don't fit the tone of this story, so I went through the process of picking and finding the ones that do ... though some don't exist on YT, so I couldn't add them.
> 
> Ugh. I'm so angry, I cannot bring myself to go back through and redo all the proofreading, so if there are any awkward sentences or tense changes, I'm sorry; but it takes a good hour to go through and edit a chapter, and I just cannot bear to do so right now. I'm too upset.
> 
> Regardless, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, because I did enjoy writing it.

 

_My walls are built, and on display_

_Help me, I'm doing all I can_

_Maybe someday I can see how this has shaped me._

_-_

Frisk wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later, blinking slowly as the world fades back into view. “Mh … Chara?” They call out, biting back a yawn as they sit up. Their arms ache like no tomorrow, with the fabric of their sweatshirt stuck to the wound and pulling at the scab with every movement, and Frisk winces when a particularly sudden movement sends a sharp pain up the limb.

_ Hey,  _ they reply, phasing through the front door.  _ How are you feeling? _

“I’m … alright," they reply, and it's only a half lie. “How long have I been asleep?”

Chara hums, crossing their arms in thought.  _ Like … an hour, maybe? Something like that. The trash bag went to his room and hasn’t come down since—do you wanna go grab something to eat? _

Frisk sighs, looking away from the ghost. “Chara, I told you—”

_ You can’t avoid eating forever,  _ they argue. _ Why don’t you want to eat? Doesn’t it hurt? _

“ … Of course it does. But …” they slide out from under the blankets, grimacing again. As much as they don’t want to eat anything to help with the injury, Frisk does wish they’d picked a less flimsy jacket to wear, or maybe something with a softer fabric so that it wouldn't have hurt so badly. “I deserve this pain.”

They know that the bed sheets are spotted with blood that had seeped through the sleeves, and go about the slow and painful process of pulling the fabric away from the scab it’d become stuck to. “Ow …” The process rips off the scab entirely and both Frisk and Chara watch as blood wells up from the cut and drips down their arm. “Sans is still in his room?”

_ … Unless he teleported, yeah.  _ Chara watches as Frisk uses the already bloodstained fabric of the sweatshirt to press down on the bleeding wound and scratches at the inside of their elbow anxiously.  _ Frisk, that really looks bad. If you won’t eat anything, can we at least go visit the shop lady for bandages? _

Frisk clutches the fabric tighter. “I … she might tell Sans.”

Chara floats over and presses their own transparent hands down on top of Frisks, offering more pressure in hopes of stemming the bleeding faster.  _ I can do the convincing. Please—just … please, Frisk? _

Reluctantly they nod, if only because the desperate expression on Chara’s face makes them feel sick with guilt. “Alright … just—let me stop this bleeding first.” Showing up with bloody clothes and asking for bandages would draw too much attention to them; asking for the shopkeeper to not mention it to either of the brothers without setting off any alarm bells was already going to be hard to pull off without the added issue of visible blood stains. “And then I’ll change, and we can go.”

Chara keeps their hands on top of Frisk’s until they lift the fabric away from their arm. They test out their range of motion, bending and moving it to make sure the bleeding had actually stopped, before folding the sweatshirt up and shoving it into their backpack. They then go through the process of redressing into what they’d been wearing when they first went out and, after a moment of thought, add one extra layer. “He’s upstairs?” Frisk asks, waiting for Chara’s confirmation before they crack the door open. The living room is empty, and they half expect for Sans’ door to slam open the second they enter—but, blissfully, it stays closed.

They’re out of the house almost as soon as their feet are shoved into their shoes, and Frisk makes sure to close the front door as quietly as possible before locking it and going on their way.

_ Here’s to hoping Moki and MK don’t find us on the way,  _ Chara mumbles, crossing their arms over their chest as Frisk trudges through the snow.  _ They’d definitely wanna follow us all the way to the store, and then—ugh. We’d have no chance of getting the bandages. _

“ … Do we really have a chance now?” Frisk wonders, keeping their head down the entire walk. “I don’t have any money.”

_ Oh. Yeah.  _ They sigh loudly.  _ We should’ve taken some before we left. _

Frisk looks at them oddly. “Taken from where?”

Chara shrugs.  _ Sans? Then again, who knows where he keeps his wallet. _

Somehow they make it to the other end of town without being spotted by any of the other children, and Frisk looks around carefully before slipping inside the shop. The owner is nowhere to be seen, even with the bell attached to the door dinging, signifying their entrance, and they glance at Chara who nods.  _ Lemme see where she is. _

They fly off to the back room, leaving Frisk alone and free to explore until someone returned. They were positive Chara would be back before the owner was, but didn't dare try to take anything until they were sure it was safe to do so. They pressed a hand to the cloth covering their wounds, nearly overwhelmed with the urge to scratch at the spot.

"It's not here …?" They mumble, when they duck behind the counter and search for the bandages in the same place they'd been last time. "Were they moved?"

_ Get out from there!  _ Chara yells suddenly, startling Frisk so badly they slam their head on the bottom side of the counter. A low moan of pain escapes their mouth, their hands immediately flying up to cradle the spot, but Chara has their hands wrapped around their arm before they have a chance to obey the sudden order.  _ She's coming—Frisk, hurry up! _

They barely stumble back towards the door as the rabbit woman comes out from the back room Chara had flown out of, and she blinks a few times when she spots Frisk in there. "Oh—I'm sorry, darling; I didn't hear the bell, for whatever reason … I hope you haven't been waiting long." Another second passes, during which rubs at the rapidly forming bump on their skull, before she finally realizes. "Oh; you're the kid Sans brought in today. Forget something?"

"No …" Their head  _ hurts _ . Chara reaches a hand up to pat the spot, and grimaces as well. "I—" their throat is terribly dry all of a sudden and Frisk grasps for the shards of their walls that Sans had completely wrecked just an hour or two ago. They feel so exposed, so  _ unsafe.  _ It's as if someone had reached inside them and pulled all their fears and insecurities out of place, and then locked the door they'd come out of.

Frisk hates it. "Do … you have any bandages?"

"Bandages?" She blinks a few times, her brow furrowing as she leaned over the counter to examine them. "You hurt, kid?"

They glanced down at their dirty shoes, gripping their hands into fists. Chara was taking the chance to fully explore behind the counters, in case they did get a chance to grab them without her noticing, and Frisk breathed in deeply before replying, "No."

"No? Why do you need bandages, then?" The woman frowns, a stern expression taking over the befuddled one from just moments ago. "You better not be planning to prank that poor monster—you may be a visitor, but that kind of behavior is  _ not  _ acceptable."

Frisk blinks, somewhat confused by her words. " … What?"

"You haven't heard? There's a monster who gets teased and bullied by the teenagers around these parts," she informs them, crossing her arms over her chest. "The poor thing is always wrapped up in something. So if you're planning on playing some prank—well, I want no part of it."

Their hands twitch as their chest creaks in pain; they'd been in town for less than a month, and already people were assuming them to be a delinquent. What had they  _ done— _ was there something intrinsically wrong with them, that everyone could see at first glance?  Their mother had always said so, but—

"I'm sorry," they say softly, their voice carefully detached and absent of any emotion. "I'll leave. Thank you for your time." Their eyes didn't sting, they  _ didn't  _ because Frisk didn't cry, they couldn't—

"Wait, kid." They pause, not daring to turn and look. Chara glares over their shoulder, and they hear the woman sigh before apologizing. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to accuse you of anything." They clench their fists tighter, biting down on their tongue to stem the tears that refused to go away. "It's just especially bad around this time of year … you seem like a good kid, not the kind who'd bully some poor monster."

_ Why do all the adults have to be such jerks?  _ Chara grumbles, crossing their arms over their chest.  _ Sans, this lady—the ones on the surface … Papyrus and Toriel are the only good ones down here. _

Frisk reluctantly turns around, keeping their eyes averted to their shoes; they're too ashamed to look at the shopkeeper, who'd seen them as a trouble maker and someone who was bad at first glance; all they wanted was bandages, and in response they'd been accused of being a bully.

Their mother was right.

She ducks behind the counter, going through some stuff before exclaiming softy, "Aha," and popping back up. "I don't usually give stuff out for free—I'd go broke if I did, but a few rolls of bandages never hurt anyone." She slides them across the counter, offering an apologetic smile to go along with it. "On the house, but next time it'll cost you. Yeah?"

" … Thank you." They wait a few seconds, making sure her paw is away from the rolls, before snatching them off the counter and shoving them in their pockets. Their arms twinge in pain from the sudden movement, but Frisk makes sure none of that shows on their expression. "I'm sorry for the trouble."

She waves their apology off. "No need to apologize. But if you're not injured, why do you need bandages?"

"I'm … a bit clumsy," they begin, the lie escaping their lips seamlessly. "I fall a lot. I don't want to worry Papyrus though, so … I wanted to get bandages for when I do fall." They will their arms to stop aching, for each motion to hurt less, but it does no good. "So, please don't tell him—or Sans," they add, when they realize their request didn't actually include the other skeleton. "It'd only worry them."

She blinks owlishly; then, a small smile comes to her lips. "I see. Well, no problem; it'll be our secret, as long as you make sure to take proper care of your injuries and get something to eat after. Sound fair?"

Their earlier refusal to eat anything comes to mind as they force a dull smile in response. "Yes."

Adults accepted lies; it allowed them to be ignorant to all the problems they didn't want to hear or see. Frisk didn't feel bad about it—all they felt was relief as the door closed behind them and they began their trek back towards the house. Chara followed silently, and they couldn't muster up enough energy to be concerned. Chara had been unusually quiet and reserved since they woke up, but Frisk supposed it was due to the open wounds on their limbs. They knew their friend hated when they hurt themselves; but at least they were willing to trust their judgement.

Frisk knew what they were doing. They hadn't died yet, and if they did—

Well.

They could always LOAD, in that case.

_ I’ll bandage them for you,  _ Chara says, once they’ve reached into their pocket for their keychain.  _ Okay? So don’t argue, because I’m gonna do it. _

Frisk unlocks the front door carefully, glancing around for any sign of Sans as they slip inside and remove their shoes. Just like earlier his door stays closed, and they quickly retreat into their own room before they dare to reply to Chara. “Why?”

_ Who cares why? Just let me. _

Frisk shrugs, but agrees regardless. They lock their door and head into their bathroom, stripping off the heavy layers and rolling up the sleeves of the last one. The wounds are scabbed, for the time being, but teeter on the edge of ripping back open all over again. Chara ignores the sick feeling in their gut as they take over and go about dabbing away the crusted blood on their arm with their washcloth before beginning the process of wrapping the wounds. They have to grit their teeth several times when a wave of pain rushes up the limb, and can feel Frisk’s disconcert over it.  _ Why are you doing this? _

“Why do you care?” Chara instinctively shoots back, tightening the bandage once more before ripping it off the roll and tucking it in. “ … Sorry. It’s just—” they test out their range of motion, bending and moving their arm around as they admit, “I hate when you hurt yourself, Frisk. It … it makes me hurt, too. Inside.” They press their palm to their chest and roll their sleeves back down to cover the bandages. “But I can’t stop you, and—and it’s my fault you got this bad. So I wanna help you as much as I can, even if all I can do is take care of your cuts.”

Chara hides the remaining rolls of bandages in their backpack and slips one of the jackets on over their shirt. Frisk sighs, but doesn’t protest when Chara shoves their backpack up against the wall and flops down on the bed.  _ I’m sorry. _

“Why are  _ you  _ sorry?”

They hesitate.  _ Because I’m weak, so I have to hurt myself. If I was stronger, you wouldn’t suffer, and I wouldn’t have to do it. _

“ … But you don’t have to,” Chara argues. “Frisk—you’re not weak. You did a lot already, and you struggled and suffered so much. You’re the opposite of weak.”

Chara knows they won’t believe their words, and Frisk’s uneasy,  _ I guess _ , that comes through after a uneasy silence leaves their throat tight with regret.  _ I’m sorry. _

“Stop apologizing.” They roll onto their side, letting their back face the wall as the warmth of the room wrapped around their small form. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, anyways.”

_ … If you say so.  _ They pause; Chara can feel their anxiety, even more potent than it is when in control of their body, and feels their gut clench with nerves.  _ Chara, you won’t leave me, right? _

“Never.” Their voice is firm, completely and absolutely certain. “I promise.”

* * *

 

The weather begins to kick in around two, and it’s only a bit after that when a firm, resounding  _ knock _ echoes through the room. Chara blinks, pausing mid sentence as the door cracks open and Sans glances in. “yo.”

“What do  _ you  _ want?” Chara sneers. They feel Frisk jolt in surprise but, considering Sans knows full well of their existence, they have no qualms about cutting off the act they'd been putting on. “Haven’t you screwed up enough today?”

_ Chara— _

“heh. so you’re the other one?” Sans asks casually, seeming almost amused. “got a name, kid?”

“Maybe.” They cross their arms and lean back with a glare. “Why do you care?”

He shrugs. “it’d be nice to have a name for you, kid-who’s-not-frisk. but if you’d prefer—”

“My name’s Chara,” they mutter. “If you forget, I’m not gonna tell you it again—and you better not either, Frisk,” they add on. Sans looks at them oddly and they level him with a look, daring him to question them.

He doesn’t.

“mm. chara?” The white pinpricks blink out for a second before coming back and, although his expression hasn’t changed, Chara swears an odd look flashes across his face. “wasn’t that the name of the—”

_ “No.”  _ They grip the fabric of their sleeves between their fingers, gritting their teeth to fight back the instinctive rush of fear that had come forth. “Anyways, what do you want?”

“well, you’re definitely not frisk,” he says, chuckling to himself. “anyways, just came in’t see how you’re doin’. it’s a lil’ late to be sleepin’, after all. just gonna ruin your sleep schedule.”

Chara is tempted to flip him off and tell him to fuck off, but they resist the urge. Instead, they fix him with a glare that could kill and clamp their mouth shut. They have no desire to spend time chit-chatting with him. Sans seems to realize this and shrugs before moving on. “you hungry, kid?”

They feel their stomach pang and arm throb and grit their teeth.  _ Say no _ , Frisk orders, but it’s soft and lacking in force; more of a request than anything. Chara themselves doesn’t want to let the skeleton know they are hungry, but they know the wounds on their arms  _ need  _ something to help along the process. If they were to reach a scabbed state, no amount of food or magic would progress the healing process unless they ripped the scab off and let the process start over.

So they resign themselves to admitting their weakness and go to answer, only for Frisk to yank them away and push forward themselves.  _ Frisk!  _ Chara snaps, slightly disoriented by the force of the motion,  _ why did you— _

“No,” Frisk replies to Sans, ignoring Chara’s seething anger. “I’m not hungry.”

“hm … that why your buddy got pushed away?” Frisk clutches their hands together nervously, unable to meet his eyes.

“Chara left on their own.” Their toes curl at their lie, hoping,  _ praying  _ Sans doesn’t call them out on it. “They … don’t really like you,” they admit, slightly anxious about telling him that. Sans seems unwilling to hurt them, even if he’s shattered their emotional barriers and kept his distance from them as a whole. He even went as far as buying them clothes—though, who knew what underlying reasons he had for that.

Sans shrugs, casually leaning back against the doorway. “you don’t have’t tell me that, kid, there’s  _ snow  _ chance i thought they did anyways.”

That piques both their interests, but Frisk can’t bring themselves to ask how he knew despite his insistence that they were allowed to ask whatever they wanted; there are too many habits and fears ingrained in them, from years and years of their parents.  _ Lemme ask him _ , Chara says, pushing at them for control.  _ I promise it’ll be fine. _

Frisk wants to refuse but, before they can, Chara pushes them back. “How the hell did you know that? We’ve never talked before and you’ve never met me.”

“told ya’, kid, it’s pretty easy to tell when you take over frisk’s body. there’s a whole lotta hostility when you’re in control, even if you don’t realize it.” Sans scuffs a slipper covered foot against the wood boards and asks again, “so you’re not hungry?”

Chara grits their teeth and pushes back against Frisk, who's still trying to gain control of their body and refuse his offer.  _ I don’t want to eat yet; I want them to stay. I deserve the pain, you can’t— _

“Maybe I am.” They settle with a vague answer, their defiant tone a strange contrast to Frisk’s usual placating and neutral one. “What’s it matter to you?”

“well. thought i’d go to grillbz, get some chow. ever had a burger?” They nod slowly. “probably never had one as good as what grillbz makes. anyways. wanna come along, kid?”

They cross their arms over their chest and level him with an even stronger glare. “I don’t wanna go anywhere with you—you’re a jackass. Who knows what kinda stuff you’d do?”

Sans’ amusement evaporates with that, and he looks at them with a mix of disconcert and something else they can’t place. “what exactly are you expecting to happen on a walk through town?”

“ … You’re not gonna do your weird teleportation thing?”

“nah. ’s an  _ ice _ day, even if there’s a storm coming. besides, you think a little snow is gonna get under my skin?” He winks playfully and their scowl grows. “and pap's gonna be home late, he’s got a cookin’ lesson today. “

Chara runs their hand across their inner arm, feeling the bandages beneath the fabric of their sweatshirt, and push back Frisk once more when they try to take control. “Fine,” they agree. “But if you try anything—”

“yeah, yeah. don’t worry, kid; i ain’t got the guts, anyways.” He straightens up from his slouched position against the doorway and inclines his head towards them. “so, you comin’?”

They feel their stomach grumble silently and grit their teeth before sliding off the bed with a huff. “Fine.”

“alright then, come out when you’re ready.” He closes the door behind them and Chara flips it the middle finger before reaching for their clothes from earlier and beginning to redress.

_ Why did you do that? _

Chara sighs, taking care not to move their injured arm too much as they reply, “I know you don’t wanna get these healed, but we have to. Plus … you’re hungry. You can’t just starve yourself because you don’t want to heal your cuts.”

_ I’m not going to starve myself,  _ Frisk protests,  _ I just … wanted to wait a little bit. _

They roll their eyes in disbelief. “C’mon, Frisk; we were talking about ways to skip dinner until it properly scabbed earlier. I  _ know  _ what you’re trying to do.”

Frisk says nothing and Chara continues to get dressed. Once finished they step into the living room and find Sans laying on the couch, the same book from earlier propped up on what would be his stomach if he was a human. “you ready?”

“Yeah, so let’s just go," they mutter, their backpack thrown over their shoulders as usual. They can't afford to lose it, considering the bandages and knife are in there—letting those fall into the wrong hands would spell disaster for them. "You  _ better not  _ try anything though."

Sans swaps out his slippers for tennis shoes and unlocks the door, allowing them to go first. "told you, kid, i don't like liars. i'm not gonna go telling any  _ fibulas." _

Chara rolls their eyes in response. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't be the first adult to do so. Lies are easy."

"you're not wrong there," he agrees. "guess you're just gonna have to trust i'm tellin' the truth."

They want to lash out and scream at him; to kick and punch and scream until he leaves them the hell alone. They don't  _ need  _ his help; sure, Sans allowed them to stay in his house and sure, he bought them food and clothes. But the idea that someone like  _ him  _ had power over  _ them  _ and Frisk made their blood boil. It would be so easy to shove him and run, but—

But there would be no point. Where could they  _ go?  _ Waterfall was too dangerous, seeing how it's Undyne's stomping ground, and Chara would rather suffer through living with Sans than ever go near that woman. Papyrus helped their living situation be more comfortable, anyways; while Frisk was still withdrawn and hesitant around the taller skeleton, Chara had come to like him. They still felt guilt over what they'd done, but it was easy to pretend it'd never happened when he was standing in front of them and ranting about his spaghetti recipe he'd come up with or the newest episode of his TV show.

And Frisk—Frisk would suffer if they tried to leave. Chara hated Sans for hurting them but, as much as they hated to admit it, being around the vibrant personalities of those in Snowdin had helped them. They weren't completely better, but improvement was improvement.

So Chara would suffer through spending time with Sans. For Frisk.

"Whatever, old man." They keep their arms crossed over their chest as they go, violently kicking up snow when they can, and hear Sans snort from his spot ahead of them.

"did you just … call me an old man?" He manages through his chuckles. "ah, man. kid, you've got a strange sense of humor. then again," he begins, his grin twitching just a bit higher, "i guess for a squirt like you, anyone's old; tall, too."

"I'm not a squirt!" They snap. "And I'm not short, either!"

Sans holds his hands up in a 'what can you do' motion. "right, sorry. vertically challenged, my bad." He shakes his head in amusement. "i guess at ten, everyone's old."

They growl, clenching their hands into fists. "You—"

"don't let it get under your  _ skin,"  _ he continues. "i mean. you of all people should know monsters don't age like humans."

_ … What's that supposed to mean? _ Frisk asks curiously.  _ The book we borrowed didn't say anything about that except for Boss Monsters. _

Chara ignores them and instead flips him the bird. "Fuck off."

"you sure got a mouth on you, don'tcha?" Still, he's completely unbothered by their tone or words, and Chara feels their anger grow. "but then again, frisk doesn't know. do they?"

"They know about Boss Monsters."

Sans hums, waving to some of the villagers they pass. Cinnamon and his sister are nowhere to be seen, and they can see the large, red restaurant growing closer and closer as they continue through the snow. "'suppose somethin's better than nothing. and you?"

"What about me?"

"what do  _ you  _ know about monsters age?"

Chara shrugs. "I know they don't age like humans; why do you care, anyways?"

"curious. don't let your bones be rattled too much." He pauses once they reach Grillby's and removes one hand from his pockets to open the door. Chara steps through the threshold without a moment's notice, sighing when the warmth of the room encompasses them. Although they have plenty of layers on to protect against the cold, it's not enough to completely block out the wind chill, and the heat of the restaurant is a great contrast to the snow outside.

“Hey, Sans!” 

“Greetings, Sans!”

“Well look who’s back—”

“Weren’t you just in earlier?”

“nah. it been awhile since i came here; at least thirty minutes from my second breakfast.” He waves a hand in a mock dismissal. “this is brunch.”

They’re taken aback by the sheer friendliness of all the patrons, especially when the room fills with laughter. Sans offers his own hellos to them all after they’ve calmed down and leads them to the bar. Chara chooses the stool to the right, leaving Sans to sit next to the two bird monsters slouched in their seat. “Who’s the little one?” A green haired monster asks, from his spot beside the jukebox. “That the new kid?”

“yep. thought i’d get ‘em some good ol’ greasy fast food. kid’s skin and _ bones.”  _ Chara scowls, tugging their collar higher up their face as they haul themselves up onto the seat—

Only to sit right on a whoopee cushion. Their cheeks heat in embarrassment, especially when Sans and the nearby monster chuckle. “oops,” he starts, “gotta be careful where you sit; some weirdos think they gotta  _ funny bone  _ and put those down on seats.”

“Jackass,” they grumble in return. “Frisk, you want out?” They ask quietly; Sans is the only one close enough to hear them, and they could care less now that he was aware of coming out. “It smells really good.”

_ … No, it’s alright,  _ Frisk replies, though Chara can feel their hesitation.  _ You should enjoy your food—if it smells good, it must taste good, too. _

Chara glances over and sees Sans talking to a monster with a flame for a head, and it’s enough for them to continue their conversation. “Yeah. So, you should try some too; besides, there’s two of us. I can’t just eat everything for you.”

_ I eat breakfast,  _ Frisk protests.  _ And cinnabunnies.  _

“Yeah, but—” they pause when the flame monster offers them a menu. “Oh, thanks.” 

They think they see him nod and are about to continue with what they were saying when Sans says, “so whaddya want? feel free to browse, though i wouldn’t recommend the sausage rolls; they’re the  _ wurst _ .”

Chara’s tempted to pick those just to be defiant, but hold themselves back. “Frisk, what do you want?” They ask instead, dropping their voice to a whisper as they scan the menu. It’s only one page, but there are several different options to choose from.

_ I told you, I don’t want it.  _

Chara sighs, swinging their feet as they rest their cheek in their hand. “And I told you that I won’t eat everything for you just because you’re too stubborn.”

They glance at Sans again to make sure he’s not listening and find him engaged in his own conversation with the drunken bird monster. “So please just pick?”

_ … Fine …  _ they agree reluctantly, if only to please Chara.  _ I … guess the fries and chicken tenders? Do you like those? _

They nod. “They’re pretty good.” Chara shifts so they can jab Sans with the corner of their menu. He twitches, turning to look at them curiously.

“you decided?”

“Chicken tenders and fries,” they reply, swinging their legs just a bit harder. “So hurry up and decide your own food,  _ old man.” _

He drags a hand down his skull, shaking his head in what could almost be considered amusement before he tells them, “same as always. grillbz,” he waves the bartender over. “gimme the usual. the kid’ll take tendies and fries.”

Chara snorts. “Did you just call them  _ tendies _ ?”

“yep. ‘s wrong with that?”

They roll their eyes. “That’s a stupid way to call chicken tenders. What are you, five?”

“90, t’be exact.” Chara’s eyes widen and his grin grows. “what, surprised? skeleton got your tongue?”

“ _ No _ ,” they snap, kicking the underside of the bar to hide the fact that they  _ were _ actually surprised. “Just shows you are old, old man.”

“eh,” he shrugs. “skeleton monsters tend to live ‘till their mid to late 200s, maybe up to 300s if they're in good health. i’d say … “ he thinks for a moment, glancing up at the ceiling, before finishing, “seems about 29 in human years.”

Chara frowns, looking at him with a mix of confusion and frustration. “How’d you know?”

“just math.”

Chara crosses their arms on the bar and rests their chin on them.  _ That’s a lot of math to do in your head,  _ Frisk begins,  _ he must know a lot. _

“Who cares what he knows?” Chara shoots back. “So he can do mental math, big deal.”

Sans ignores their mumbling, instead choosing to ask, “so how’d this whole thing come t’be?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” They trace patterns in the wood with their finger, shutting their eyes for a few moments. “This isn’t gonna turn into another twenty questions game; we’re not gonna play.”

He shrugs with a sigh. “whatever __ you say, kid. but it’d be a lot easier to figure out that SOUL problem of yours if you’d just throw me a  _ bone _ .”

They grit their teeth.  _ Chara, calm down,  _ Frisk urges.  _ You don’t have to be angry … if it’s really too much, I’ll do it. _

They don’t hesitate with their response, “No way. Not after what he did to you today.” They shove themselves up so they can sit up straight, meeting Sans’ eyes with their own red ones—and for the first time, Sans  _ actually  _ pays attention to the orbs. Unlike Frisk’s empty brown ones, Chara’s are filled with life and emotion; with anger and scorn and hatred. He finds it almost amusing how much the ghost hates him, even if he has no clue as to why or where it came from, but more than anything it leaves him wondering what happened to leave Frisk's so  _empty._ “If you’re 90, what about Papyrus? How old is he, like 70?”

Sans is the one who sighs this time, resting his chin in his palm. “you sure ask a lotta questions for someone who doesn't wanna play twenty questions. pap’s … 24? yeah. he’s no baby bone anymore, but he’s still a youngin’.”

They furrow their brow. “I don’t get it.”

He shrugs. “if you’re really so curious, ask me when we’re not ‘round a bunch’a monsters.”

“ … I’m not that curious,” they grumble, crossing their arms petulantly. “I still have the right to call you old, though.”

He waves their words off as Grillby steps out from the back door with their food in hand, and Chara urges Frisk forward. They fight against it but, in the end, Chara wins the battle. It disorients them, and they grasp the edge of the counter to steady themselves. The plates are set down in front of them, steam still rising, and they swallow the saliva that accumulates in their mouth. The smell is enticing; Frisk rarely got to eat fast food, with their preferring to either leave them to make a sandwich or something similar, or making only somewhat edible meals in hopes of festering ‘family bonding time’. Frisk hated when they chose the second one; more often than not, it ended with their parents arguing about something mundane, which would then turn into an argument over them.

_ Oh wow.  _ Chara blinks from their spot on the counter beside Frisk.  _ Those look good—and no, Frisk, I don’t want it. _

They bite their lip, but nod. “want some ketchup, kid?” Sans offers, and Frisk glances at the offered bottle anxiously before nodding. Condiments were a privilege in their house, and Frisk could count on one hand how many times their mother had offered them any.

All those times were before they started school; before they became  _ bad.  _ Back when their parents loved them, back before they’d realized they were a monster--

Chara smacks their shoulder.  _ I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know it’s bad. So cut it out already; enjoy the food. I know the trash bag is next to you, but you can just ignore him. _

They exhale softly, glancing down at the bottle in their hands. “Alright … “

Except, when they go to pour some on the empty part of their plate, the lid fall off--and the entire contents of the bottle spill out. Immediately their gut clenches in fear, their hands and shoulders beginning to shake. They aren’t crying, but there’s a tightness in their throat that leaves them unable to speak.

_ ‘I messed up, I’m in trouble, I’m in trouble I made a mess, I wasted an entire body I wasted the food I’m in trouble trouble trouble— _

_ You’re okay,  _ Chara attempts, resting one hand on their shaking arm and attempting to muster up as much calm energy as they can.  _ It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault; it was just an accident. You’re gonna be fine. _

They’re nearly startled out of their skin when a skeletal hand reaches out to take the bottle from then. “don’t worry ‘bout it kid,” he says calmly, switching their ruined fries with his own. “looks like some bonehead forgot’t put the cap back on. go ahead and have mine;  _ bone  _ appetite.”

But Frisk can’t stop their shaking, the dread that seeps down to their very pores. Other than the stark whiteness of their face their expression hasn’t changed and Sans glances around the room before hopping off his stool and saying, “grillbz, we’ll be right back; save our food, will ya’?”

The flame nods, and Sans turns to Frisk’s frozen form. “c’mon kid, let’s take a walk.”

That breaks them from the petrified position they’d been in, but does nothing to calm the fear and anxiety rolling through their body. Chara takes a tight hold of their hand and requests, _ Let me. _

They shake their head, staying a good few steps behind Sans, and squeeze the ghost’s hand tighter as he leads them around to the back of the restaurant. Frisk hates the fact that they can feel tears pressing at the back of their eyes—how had they fallen so  _ far _ ? Years upon years of never crying, of keeping their emotions under control, only for it all to shatter in the span of an hour. Crying was dangerous, emotions were dangerous; it got them punished.

They’re terrified of what’s in store for them.

“relax, frisk, you’re not in trouble.” It’s as if Sans peeked into their head and saw their fears. “just thought you’d like a nice and quiet place’t calm down’s all. there’s  _ snow  _ need  _ tibia _ fraid.”

Frisk hugs themselves around their stomach and Chara places themselves in between the two. It wouldn’t do anything should Sans decide to harm them, but it was better than staying on the sidelines.  _ If you try  _ anything  _ I’ll— _

Frisk squeezes their eyes shut and searches through their head for the shards of their walls. It’s completely scattered, with only bits and pieces close enough for them to reach for, but they do so hungrily. Any amount of defense was better than none. It wasn’t nearly enough to protect them completely, but it would do. “I—I’m sorry,” they manage and, despite the slight stutter at first, their voice is stable, displaying none of their true emotions. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.

“like i said, don’t sweat it; it's just a plate of fries.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pocket as he stands across from them. “this ain’t something worth apologizing for. 's not your fault.”

They swallow anxiously, bunching the fabric of their jacket in their hands. “So—I’m not …"

Sans says nothing, giving them time to gather their courage, and they tense their muscles before asking, “I’m not in trouble?”

“nope. it’s just some ketchup, no big deal; we can getcha a new bottle no problem.”

Frisk nods slowly, keeping their eyes locked on the snow. “ … You aren’t angry?”

He shakes his head. “nah. you’re gonna have’ta do a lot more than spill some ketchup to get under my skin.” Sans doesn't make any motion to approach them, but he does remove one hand from his pocket so he can gesture towards the restaurant. "you're all good, kid. nothin' for me to be angry 'bout. everything's fine."

_ He doesn’t even  _ have _ skin, _ Chara grumbles. Frisk chews on their lip again, torn between believing Sans’ word and not. He’d shown to be different than their parents, but—

They could never know for sure. Never know if he’d turn on them and realize how bad they were, that they didn’t deserve this kindness he and Papyrus had bestowed upon them.  They couldn’t afford to let their guard down, especially when most of the pieces were already missing.

They settle with, “If you’re sure …”

“crystal. now, whadd’ya say about going back and finishing your food? or d'ya need a bit longer to calm down?”

Their stomach growls and their arm aches. It’d be so easy to say no, but—

They nod, and follow Sans back into the restaurant instead.

* * *

Papyrus returns back early, while Frisk and Chara are attempting to play a hand game with each other on the couch, and they turn to look at the door as it bursts open. “HELLO, FRISK!” He greets, his eyes bright as he shakes the snow off his boots and places them besides the rest of the shoes. In his hands is a tupperware filled with what they assume to be spaghetti. “I HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD AFTERNOON WITH MY BROTHER; DID YOU GET MANY GOOD CLOTHES?”

Frisk nods, letting their hands rest in their lap. “Yes … how was your cooking lesson?” They ask hesitantly, reminding themselves of Papyrus’ kindness. Other than the other children, Papyrus is the only one who they can ask questions relatively easily.

“WONDERFUL. I THINK THIS BATCH IS DEFINITELY BETTER THAN THE LAST.” He beckons them into the kitchen and the two children follow obediently. “SANS!” He bellows, drawing a flinch from Frisk, “GET DOWN HERE YOU LAZY BUM.”

“sup?” Sans greets, already seated at the table somehow. They’re fairly sure it has to do with his teleportation thing he can do. “ _ icy  _ you’re back from your lesson.”

Papyrus huffs, but doesn’t make any further acknowledgement that he heard the pun. “YES. THIS TIME WE MADE … UM. HM, WHAT WAS IT CALLED …”

“OH! IT’S—GOU-LASH?” He tests the pronunciation and nods to himself. “IT’S NOT AS GOOD AS SPAGHETTI, BUT. I THOUGHT I’D TRY SOMETHING NEW THIS  _ THYME.  _ NYEHEHE!” Papyrus cackles at his own pun before opening the fridge and placing the container in. There are several similar containers in there, all filled with spaghetti, and they look away as they slide into their chair.

Sans glances at them and Frisk looks away. As much as they hated to admit it—and Chara hated in general—they were becoming … comfortable with the situation. It had structure and stability; there was no screaming and fighting, they had a clear escape route and privacy; even new clothes. But it couldn’t last forever; Frisk knew that, eventually, it would fall apart. They would mess up and make a mistake—and then, everything would crash and burn.

They didn’t want to be around to see it, but had nowhere else to go. Back was a dead end, and forward was Hell.

_ It’s gonna be fine. _ Chara reaches down to rest their hand on top of Frisk’s. Their emotions were tumultuous and wild, both untamed and pacified at the same time, and they didn’t want it to go the wrong way.  _ Papyrus is too nice to let anything happen. _

“FRISK?” They blink and look up at Papyrus, who’s coming back in from the living room. When he left, they’re unsure, but in his hands is the bag that held their clothes from the earlier shopping trip. “DO YOU KNOW HOW TO CROCHET?”

They tilt their head at the skeleton, blinking at the sudden question. “No,” they reply, and although they’re curious they can’t bring themselves to ask why he’d ask them such a question. In the end, though, it doesn’t matter, because Papyrus launches into an explanation for them.

“YOU SEE, I’VE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW WE WILL KEEP YOU SAFE FROM UNDYNE,” their chest lurches in fear and Chara shudders, “SHE WILL  _ NEVER  _ EXPECT THIS!”

He dumps the contents of the bag across the table unceremoniously and one of the yarn balls rolls off the table and into their lap. Frisk looks at it strangely, running their fingers across the yarn, and Papyrus rummages through the cupboards for something before returning with a large kit. “IT’S NOT TOO HARD ONCE YOU GET USED TO IT, WHICH IS WHY I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL BE TEACHING YOU!”

“hey bro,” Sans begins, slouched in his chair, “if you’re gonna teach the squirt how to sew, why’d you need me here?”

Papyrus huffs. “BE _ CAUSE _ . IT’S FAMILY BONDING TIME! YOU’RE ALWAYS LOCKED UP IN YOUR ROOM, OR SLEEPING ON THE JOB. WHAT KIND OF LITTLE BROTHER WOULD I BE IF I ALLOWED YOU TO WASTE YOUR LIFE AWAY LIKE THAT!?”

_ … Sans is the older one?  _ Chara says, completely baffled.  _ But he’s so much smaller—that has to sting.  _ They break off into a short lived laugh before leaning over the table to look at the kit. There are needles and threads, scissors, several long hooks, and something they’d guess to be a pincushion. Papyrus removes the three of the long hook and scissors, placing the rest of the kit on the counter, and hands one of the hooks to Frisk and the other to Sans. He then distributes the yarn—with Frisk getting a brown one that matches their hair nicely, and Sans getting blue—, and finally explains, “WE CAN’T KEEP UNDYNE AWAY FOREVER …” the hair on the back of their neck stands up and Frisk is hit with the overwhelming urge to flee. To find somewhere safe, where no one could find them; somewhere that they could hide and never be found.

A panicked whimper escapes their lips, against their volition, and Papyrus immediately attempts to calm their growing panic. “DON’T WORRY, FRISK. YOU’RE SAFE WITH US.”

“yeah. pap’s right,” Sans tacks on, sitting up a bit straighter. They squeeze the yarn between their fingers, sucking in a sharp breath before Chara starts to count, for both their sakes. More than anything else, they wish their friend had a body of their own; someone who they could hide with and share their fear without looking crazy. They craved the closeness of a real person; not a ghost, or an incorporeal human, but one made of flesh and blood. One who could interact with the world.

“c’mon, kid, calm down. everything’s fine, you’re good.” Frisk blinks away tears, hating the fact that they’d been reduced to such a weak state. If it wasn’t for Sans, their barriers would be in tact. They’d be able to push away their fear and panic, keep Chara from being afraid. Keep their emotions locked down, because emotions weren’t safe; emotions made them human and they  _ weren’t human. _

A cinnabunny is set down in front of them and they blink again, sniffling as they look up at Papyrus with red rimmed eyes. He smiles at them like usual, but there’s concern in his gaze. “I KNOW CINNABUNNIES HELP HUMANS, SO … PLEASE EAT UP! YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE AFRAID, FRISK. WE’RE MAKING YOU THESE SO UNDYNE  _ WON’T  _ KNOW!”

“I—” they squeeze their eyes shut and gather the shards in their head, pushing their emotions back as they piece together what remains and attempt to create a wall. “I-I don’t wanna see her.” They’d fallen back into the same, childish speak their parents hated, and the screaming and anger in the memories brought back lead the yarn to drop to the floor as they brought their hands up to cover their mouth. “P-Please don’t—don’t. I don’t w-want to.”

_ ‘Trouble, trouble I’m in trouble I’m in trouble, I’m wrong I’m bad, this isn’t how you talk you worthless child, worthless, horrible, awful spawn of the devil you shouldn’t be born mistake, mistake mistake mistakE’ _

They feel bony arms wrap around their small and trembling form and are too far gone to even pull away. “THERE, THERE … YOU ARE OKAY, FRISK.” Even Papyrus’ ‘quiet’ voice is loud, and he pats Frisk’s hair gently. Chara hisses out a breath, pushing their own panic away and shoving at Papyrus—but it does no good. They have no body, no way to interact with the skeleton.

_ Let go of them, don’t touch them!  _ They snap, feeling their body tense with panic, but it’s futile. Only Frisk can hear them.  _ Don’t, don’t— _

Sans watches from his spot at the table, arms crossed over his chest and a strange expression. His usual smile is there and his brow isn’t furrowed; but there’s something  _ there _ . Chara can’t tell what and can’t figure out where it comes from, and they press their hands to their eyes and crouch down low.

Breathe in. Out. In. Out.

_ One, two, three—three, two, one.  _ They repeat their mantra, for themselves and for Frisk, and breathe out shakily.  _ It’s okay, we’re gonna be okay. _

But the sight of Papyrus’ arms around Frisk makes their stomach churn with panic and disgust, bringing back memories they’d long since tried to forget—the phantom feelings and memories of their days at the orphanage, before they’d run away.

They take over for Frisk and shove him away. Papyrus’ expression is one of shock and even a bit of hurt, but Chara can’t bring themselves to care.

Touch is dangerous; Papyrus is kind, but there’s no way to tell what would happen. It’s so  _ easy  _ for something soft and kind to become twisted and painful. They trust Frisk and Toriel and trust the other kids of Snowdin; but everyone else was dangerous. Frisk hiccups in their head, but Chara can tell that their taking over had done at least a little bit to help.

“I-I’m fine,” they stammer out, swallowing a few times to clear their throat and rubbing their eyes to rid them of the moisture. “Just teach me how to do this.”

Sans immediately notices the change, but Papyrus just looks at them with a mix of confusion and sadness. Whether it’s because they pushed him away so abruptly, or because of their mini episode, Chara doesn’t know, but they can’t bring themselves to care. Their entire body feels  _ wrong,  _ like someone had stretched them out thin and put them back to normal; their hands tingle, their chest hurts. It’s like their anxiety has dialed itself up to an eleven.

They count in their head and work through the process of calming themselves down. Papyrus begins with the lesson after a few moments of watching them and, although his jolly and friendly tone doesn’t stray at all they can tell he’s concerned by what happened. “AS … YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED, WE ARE GOING TO BE USING A LOT OF YARN. THE PLAN IS TO MAKE YOU NICE AND FUZZY! JUST LIKE A MONSTER.”

Chara’s mood sours and they can almost feel the way Frisk flinches at those words. “A monster, huh … what kinda monster?”

“HM … WELL, SOMETHING FUZZY. PERHAPS A KITTY?” Frisk perks up at that, and although there’s still an edge of distress at the thought of masquerading as a monster it’s lessened slightly by that suggestion. “THERE ARE MANY CAT MONSTERS IN THE CAPITAL! … WELL, THERE ARE MANY MONSTERS IN GENERAL. BUT!” Papyrus picks up his hook and Chara mimics the motion. After a few seconds and a sigh, Sans does as well. “SINCE THERE ARE SO MANY, IT WILL NOT CONTRADICT YOUR COVER STORY.”

Chara nods silently, willing their fingers to stop trembling, but it’s no use. Papyrus instructs them patiently, going through every step and then some; offers advice when they don’t tighten it enough, scolds Sans when he lazily goes through the motion of crocheting something completely unrecognizable, but as the process goes on Chara finds themselves—and Frisk—calming. It’s a repetitive and long process, but it’s something. They pick at the cinnabunny during the process, though it remains mostly untouched.

They find themselves enjoying it, though Chara refuses to stay out the entire time. Frisk takes over in those instances, a bit more clumsy with the process than Chara, but the ghost hovers at their side the entire time and offers advice when they struggle to do something, as does Papyrus.

It’s almost like having a family.

The wind outside the house is howling by the time they call it quits for the day and, while Frisk and Chara have only managed half of their hat Papyrus has an entire one and a pair of mittens to match. The hat is the same shade of brown as theirs was, while the mittens are a colour that, while it doesn’t match their skin tone perfectly, is close enough. Sans, on the other hand, has six identical, palm sized pouches laid out on the table, and Papyrus huffs when he sees it. “SANS! WE TALKED ABOUT THIS!”

He shrugs, grinning at the fuming skeleton. “i thought you said no more circles, bro.”

“UGH!” Papyrus throws his hands in the air. “YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE.” 

It’s Chara who places their own disaster of a hat down; they’d had to restart and redo it several times, either because they messed up an early stitch, or because the stitches hadn’t been tight enough, but they could feel how Frisk’s mood had lightened. “Do you do this a lot, Papyrus?”

“OH. YES, IT’S A HOBBY OF MINE.” He begins to gather up the excess yarn and hooks, placing the yarn in a similar box and the tools they’d been using back into the kit. “I FIND IT QUITE RELAXING; THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS YOU CAN MAKE WITH JUST YARN AND A HOOK!”

They swing their legs idly as they lean their head into an open palm, watching Papyrus finishing putting everything away. The only thing left is the hat and mittens he’d made for them, and he beams as he slides them across the table. Somehow, he’d even stitched on droopy cat ears at the top, and Chara runs their fingers across the hat, feeling each individual stitch, “FOR YOU. I KNOW YOU PROBABLY WANTED TO USE YOUR OWN CREATION, BUT …” he hesitates, and immediately Chara knows that what he was going to say wouldn’t be good, “WELL. IT’S BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY.” It wasn’t what he intended, but neither of them mind. “I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!”

“yeah, ‘s not everyday you get a  _ snow _ made hat and gloves from my bro.” Sans stacks his pouches on top of each other, making sure they’re all lined up, before hopping off his hair and strolling over to Papyrus. “need any help there, pap?” 

Frisk comes back through as they head out of the kitchen and back to the living room, with the mittens and hat in hand, and Chara watches as an unusual expression comes to life. “This … is for me,” they say softly, sitting down on the couch and beginning to run their fingers across the fabric. “Just for me and you.”

_ Mhm. Looks a lot better than that thing we made,  _ Chara says easily, leaning back into the couch beside Frisk.  _ C’mon; try them on! I wanna see how they look. _

They tilt their head, but oblige without protest. They put the hat on first, fiddling with the ears and how low they can pull it before it becomes uncomfortable, before pulling the gloves on over their hands. There are little pads on the fingers, not unlike an actual cat would have, and they spread their fingers out in front of themselves. “It’s soft.”

Chara flies in front of them to look, and their eyes widen.  _ Oh wow,  _ they start,  _ Papyrus actually did a good job with that. He got the size right and everything.  _ They reach a hand out to touch the fabric, only to pull back when they realize they can’t. Disappointment flashes across their face, but they turn around to hide it from Frisk; not that it matters.

Frisk can feel it.

“Chara? Do you want to try?” They ask, their tone just as soft and quiet as it usually is. “You helped to make this too.”

_ … Nah. I’m good, it’s yours anyways.  _ Frisk opens their mouth to protest but Chara cuts them off,  _ you’re the one—t-the one Undyne is after, anyways.  _

They say nothing, their eyes dropping to their lap where their mitten covered hands rest, and reluctantly nod. Papyrus and Sans come back into the room shortly after, and the taller skeleton’s grin grows when he sees that Frisk has the hat and mittens on. "AH! I SEE YOU'VE TRIED THEM ON; DO YOU LIKE THEM? I HOPE THEY FIT RIGHT."

Frisk wiggles their fingers and spreads them out across their lap once more. "It's nice … thank you, Papyrus." They allow their posture to relax, shoulders slouching as they lean back into the couch. "I like them."

His grin could light up the room. "OF COURSE; I'M GLAD YOU LIKE THEM!"

"Do you—make things a lot?" The actual name of what they'd been doing escapes them, and although it's hard to get the question out there's only a mild flash of panic while doing so.

He nods. "YES; I GREATLY ENJOY MAKING THINGS FOR MY FRIENDS." They blink. "SO, I'M GLAD YOU LIKE THEM."

Friend—he considered them his  _friend?_ Their chest creaks with emotions, festering and growing until it feels like they'll burst, and Frisk swallows hard as they exchange a look with Chara. The ghost is baffled as well, though not nearly as much as Frisk, and it takes them a good few seconds before they can manage a, "We're … friends?"

"WELL … YES, I DO CONSIDER US TO BE," Papyrus pauses. "DO YOU NOT WANT TO BE FRIENDS?"

They say nothing for a few seconds, clenching their hands into fists and feeling the fabric against their skin. Papyrus had made them these so they could be safe; he'd called them his  _friend._ He considered them a friend—them, the monster dressed in human skin, the monster who'd slaughtered countless monsters and washed his dust off their hands and knife. Them—the one who caused so much pain and suffering, who caused burdens for others.

"We can be friends," they reply softly, with a clear hesitance in their voice, and Papyrus' grin returns. They duck their head, feeling a warmth spread through their body; a feeling they haven't felt in a long while. From his place beside Papyrus Sans shrugs, his expression the same as usual, and for once Frisk doesn't feel completely like a monster.

"you and pap'll make great buddies," he says simply, patting his brother on the back, "maybe you could even be besties."

Papyrus' pinpricks shine, and for the first time since they'd arrived in Snowdin a genuine smile comes to their face. It's small, just barely there, and ready to disappear and flat line at any moment, but it's  _there._ Chara breathes out softly and smiles as well; because Frisk smiling, genuinely and actually  _smiling_ was improvement.

They were getting better, even if it was just by a fraction.

Ten minutes later they're all gathered in the kitchen, the gloves and hat left on the couch, with Papyrus dishing out the pasta dish he'd made at his cooking lesson and, while it's not much more palpable than his usual spaghetti, Frisk can't bring themselves to care. There's a warmth in their chest and although they keep quiet through most of the conversation, it's not unpleasant. It's comfortable and warm; it leaves their chest full with something that they might consider an emotion, if they allowed themselves to believe they exist.

It's almost like having a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought! I know it was a lot of dialogue and not much action, but sometimes it's just like that. The story is picking up in pace, though! 
> 
> So please let me know your thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But nobody came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart I did of CH5: http://swissed-toast.tumblr.com/post/181913922845 I wanted to do a background, but I ran out of time and patience.  
> Question: How do you guys feel about Gaster? Would you like to see him, or no?  
> Another Question: Would you guys rather have these longer chapters, or shorter ones? I tend to write a lot for a chapter, but if people would prefer it to be shorter I can try and do so.  
> Let me know in the comments, please!
> 
> I realize I made a typo in the last chapter with skeleton ages and put 300s instead of 200s. It's been fixed. More stuff at the bottom and all that, etc. etc.. It's not light though and kind of doesn't relate to the story much. You're free to ignore the end note, or you can read, it's really up to you.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy! I'm still bad at puns. They're sorely lacking in this chapter, sorry. I know a lot of general puns, but Sans won't go tossing out any cat puns unless he's *feline* like it fits the mood. Get it? Also, I'm still trying to get his 'voice' down. It's hard to strike the right balance with him. Also, I wanted more Papyrus in this chapter but I bumped up a bunch of plans I had; I've cut about two chapters worth of 'fluff' out, most of which featured Papyrus, because it would've dragged the entire situation out to a completely awful extent. But looking at it logically; if Papyrus just ... stopped showing up to his usual practices, cooking lessons, and shifts because he's hanging out with Frisk, Undyne would get suspicious; and no matter how the fandom likes to portray him, he's not stupid. He's a busy guy. On the flip side, it's not going to surprise Undyne if Sans isn't at his usual shift every so often, because it's *Sans*. He's posted all the way from the beginning of the forest to the end of Hotland, so if he's not in one spot then it's not exactly illogical if she thinks 'guess he's at a different one'.
> 
> Also: Long chapter.

_Push to keep the dark from coming_

_Feel the weight of what we owe_

_-_

There's something uncomfortable and unnerving about waking up to the sound of roaring wind and pounding shed walls. The harsh and bitter weather raged through the night and is still going when they awake, with Frisk blinking away blurriness and sleep as they burrow further into the layers of blankets swaddling them. The walls shudder around them, creaking under the weight of the ferocious storm, and they watch through the semi-transparent sheets that cover the window as the wind circles the house like a predator.

It doesn't even feel like morning with how dark it is outside, and they jump when Chara greets, _Good morning, Frisk. It’s so dark, I bet you couldn’t even tell it’s morning, huh?_

Frisk yawns. “Kind of." They reluctantly sit up, dragging the top blanket up with them so they can wrap it around their shoulders and lean back against the wall. "Do you know what time it is?"

_Uh … no,_ they admit. _Not a clue. But Sans is up._

“ … Sans is up before me?” That was almost concerning, considering they were fairly sure that Sans didn't sleep nearly as late as Papyrus thought he did and instead hid out in his room to avoid seeing them. If he'd come down, then it had to be at least ten; which … was new.

Frisk hadn't slept in in a very long time.

_Yeah. He seemed pretty surprised, too, but Papyrus forbid him from waking you up._ Chara leans back casually, crossing their hands behind their head as they turn to look at Frisk. _We can't go out today … so we're stuck in here, all day. Or in there, but—_ their face scrunches up in displeasure, _the trash bag is in there._

Frisk says nothing, sliding back a bit until their legs dangle over the side of the bed and their head is propped up by the wall, and Chara moves to sit beside them. _So what do you wanna do today?_

They shrug. "There's not very much to do," they reply, folding their hands over their stomach. "What about you?"

Chara shrugs as well. _Eh … what's there even to do? All these guys seem to have is TV—no games or anything._

Frisk tilts their head curiously, glancing at their friend as they do so. "Games? You mean board games?"

_Video games. You must have played them, right?_ Frisk shakes their head and Chara gapes at them. _But it's been 100 years since I fell—at_ least! _How haven't you played any video games? They must be more advanced, now._

"… My parents just never bought them," they reply. "Father called it a waste of money. Plenty of my classmates had them, but—"

But they didn't have friends. They weren't friends with their classmates so, rather than huddling around the kid playing on his handheld and begging for a turn like others had, Frisk had been forced to sit in the back and watch from afar. They didn't particularly care, especially not enough to let it upset them, but it was an odd feeling to be so disconnected from everyone around them. Now it was different, at least slightly, but that feeling of isolation hadn't ever really left them. It was something they'd remember for a long time.

"—I never did," Frisk finishes, their voice quieter than when they started. "When did you fall, Chara?"

They cross their arms, their brow furrowing in an emotion Frisk isn't able to name. It could be frustration or confusion—they haven't gained a strong enough grasp on those emotions to accurately place them 100% of the time. Chara sighs heavily, leaning back into the wall as they reply, _2015? I was born in 2004. I turned 12 down here, and then in 2016 I died. What year is it, now?_

"2119. So it's been …" they frown, raising their gaze to the ceiling as they do the math in their head. "103 years since you died." Despite being in the accelerated classes at their school, they weren't the best at mental math; better than many of their classmates, but not great. "You're older than Sans."

_… I am, aren't I?_ Chara grins, their eyes glinting, before they realize, _Wait—that means when I call him an old man, I'm calling_ myself _old, too._

They groan. Frisk turns their head to hide their smile, scratching at their cheek to resist the urge to giggle. It was beginning to get harder to control those urges, which was both concerning and unnerving, but it felt like an uphill battle when they tried to resist it. If they returned to the surface—to their _parents_ before gathering their emotions under control, they were going to be in trouble.

The thought saps away whatever amusement they'd had and they squeeze the blanket between their fingers. It was so _easy_ to become comfortable in this existence, with Sans and Papyrus to fill the empty silence and the kids of Snowdin to replace their classmates from the surface. It was going to be hard to go back to the surface once this was all over.

"What do you think will happen when we leave?" Frisk asks suddenly, sitting up and turning to look at the still grumbling ghost. Chara blinks, taken aback by the question, but Frisk urges them to answer. "Will I still be able to hear you if I can't take my SOUL out? Or—will you go away?"

_What's with these questions all of a sudden?_ They ask, frowning. _Why wouldn't you be able to take your SOUL out?_

They shake their head, messing up their already messy hair. "On the surface. All I have to do now to check is just—" they motion with their hands, biting the inside of their lip as the words evade them, "—do what Flowey told us. But on the surface, I didn't even know it existed."

They press their other hand to their chest, grasping the fabric of their shirt in an almost anxious matter before asking, "What if I lose you forever?"

_Don't say that kinda stuff,_ Chara snaps, shoving their shoulder before yanking their hand away from their shirt and holding it tight. _I told you I'd never leave, right? Don't you trust me?_

Frisk looks away. " … Of course I do," they mumble, "but I've never had another person attached to my SOUL before. What if something goes wrong when we leave?"

Chara raises an eyebrow. _When? You know that the only way out is through—through Asgore, right? We've never faced him before. Do you really wanna go back to the humans so badly?_

"It's going to happen eventually." Frisk sighs and pulls their hand away from Chara so they can get off the bed and move towards the bathroom. "Toriel and—Undyne have said it. There are six human SOULS, and only one more is needed to break the barrier." Chara watches the bathroom door shut behind them, but Frisk doesn't let the wood barrier stop them from finishing with, "One day, someone's going to come for my SOUL."

They wait for Frisk to finish brushing their teeth and hair before saying anything, taking the time to think instead. They were lucky Undyne hadn't stopped by already, especially considering how close Papyrus seemed to be to her—it was probably the work of both the skeleton brothers. Sans was determined to keep the promise he'd kept to Toriel, no matter how bad of a job he did at it, and Papyrus had become too attached to let Undyne kill them. It was the very reason Frisk didn't see either of the brothers all that often; if anything were to seem off with their usual schedule, it could make her suspicious.

At least, that's how it seemed to them.

_If someone comes for your SOUL, I'll kill them,_ they say abruptly. Frisk blinks and Chara continues, _I don't care who it is; I'll kill them. Even if it—i-if it means we have to see Her again. I won't let them hurt you—I won't let them_ kill  _you._

"I'm not worth that," Frisk mumbles, checking their sleeves for any blood stains. They'd trashed the bandages before going to bed last night and hadn't bothered re wrapping them this morning; dinner had mainly healed them up, anyways. There was no point in wasting anymore bandages when it wasn't necessary. "I'd rather RESET then have to watch you face down Undyne again."

Chara shrugs, but it's easy to tell how uneasy they are at the idea of Undyne coming for Frisk. _Whatever. Let's go get something to eat._

Papyrus scolds them for a good minute about sleeping in before he jumps off the couch, where he'd been watching MTT reruns, and heads into the kitchen to heat something up for them. They're given a cinnabunny while they wait, which leaves their stomach churning, and Chara rolls their eyes when they see Sans asleep on the other end of the couch with his usual book propped up on what would be his stomach if he had flesh. _How much you wanna bet he's not actually asleep?_

"Probably," they simply reply, eyeing the book as they move towards the kitchen. There was a deep curiosity as to what it actually was—they could've sworn they'd seen a second book inside of it, once, when they looked—but they couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety at the thought of being caught touching something that wasn't theirs. Sans kept it in the living room, but it didn't change the fact that it didn't belong to them. "Do you want out?"

_Nah,_ Chara replies, glancing over their shoulder before tapping Frisk's and flying back to the living room, _I'm gonna read over the trash bag's shoulder._

"Wait—" they trail off as the ghost phases through the sleeping skeleton and takes up a spot behind his head. "He's not even awake …"

"OH. YOU MEAN MY BROTHER?" Papyrus asks suddenly, the sudden volume starting the child. "I'M SORRY; I DIDN'T MEAN TO FRIGHTEN YOU! YOUR BREAKFAST … LUNCH," he corrects himself, "IS READY. HERE YOU GO." He sets the steaming plate down at the nearest seat and Frisk nods in thanks, edging themselves towards the seat. Papyrus steps back, giving them space to move, and leans out the doorway to yell, "SANS! GET UP YOU LAZY BONES."

Sans snorts. "sorry, bro. didn't realize i'd dozed off."

_Pick up the book already,_ Chara gripes, and Frisk twirls a forkful of spaghetti and blows on it. _Pick it up, pick it up!_

Frisk sighs, shaking their head. "Calm down, Chara," they whisper, hoping that Papyrus won't be able to hear them. They're right, because the skeleton doesn't even spare them a wayward glance. "Just be patient."

_And you eat your spaghetti,_ they snark back. _I'm gonna rant at this dumbass until he—oh! Shh, quiet Frisk, I have to concentrate. The text is really small …_

"THE STORM IS SUPPOSED TO GO ALL DAY AND NIGHT," Papyrus tells them, after they've begun to start on the massive plate of food. He always over-served them when it came to meal times and, if they counted the cinnabunny beside their plate, it was going to be a long time before they could finish everything given to them. "SO YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO SEE YOUR FRIENDS TODAY. HOWEVER!" He thumps his fist against where his heart would be if he weren't a skeleton. "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE COME UP WITH A PLAN. SO THAT NO ONE WILL BE BORED."

They don't even have to ask for an explanation, because he's already started on one before they can. "WHAT, YOU MAY WONDER? WELL. IT'S A GOOD THING YOU ASKED!" He moves over to the cupboard and slams the door open with enough force for it to bounce against the wall, and Frisk jerks in surprise at the loud noise. He rummages through the shelves before pulling out an armful of magazines, dropping them somewhat haphazardly on the table. The magazines spill off the pile, and they glance at Papyrus hesitantly before reaching out to take one.

_Snowdin News, 2.09.12 edition: Monday through Thursday._

"A newspaper?"

He shakes his head. "NO. WELL, YES; BUT WE WANT PAGE 6." They put down their fork and push away the plate so they can pry open the thin pages and flip to the desired one. On the page is a rather large crossword puzzle, and below it is a word bank. "ALTHOUGH MY BROTHER AND I LIVE TOGETHER, WE STILL GET TWO PAPERS FOR WHATEVER REASON. THESE ARE ALL OF OUR SPARES; TODAY, WE WILL TEST THE LIMITS OF YOUR ABILITIES! FLIP THE PAGE." The backside is a Junior Jumble word scramble, and then a word search beneath it. "EVERYONE KNOWS THAT JUNIOR JUMBLE IS THE HARDEST, BUT—"

"junior jumble is for baby bones," Sans interrupts. "the kid's obviously gonna find the word search harder."

The words are familiar, but Frisk can't exactly place where they've heard them from. Perhaps one of their earlier runs; they remember a word search being placed down as a 'trap', during their last run, but neither them nor Chara had paid much attention to the argument and hadn't responded when asked to settle the quarrel. They wonder if Sans remembers that—he seemed to have a blotchy memory of the last run, after all. Frisk wonders just how much he's aware of from the last two runs, but lacks the confidence to ask such a question.

"YOU ONLY SAY THAT BECAUSE _YOU_ ARE TOO _LAZY_ TO FINISH A JUNIOR JUMBLE." Papyrus huffs. "FRISK. I MUST GO AND RETRIEVE SOMETHING; BUT I WILL NOT BE LONG."

They frown. "Are you going outside?"

"UNFORTUNATELY, I MUST. NO NEED TO WORRY, THOUGH! I AM A SKELETON! I HAVE NO FLESH." Nevertheless, he adjusts his scarf and battle body as he speaks. "SO THE COLD WILL NOT EFFECT ME NEARLY AS MUCH AS IT AFFECTS YOU AND OTHER MONSTERS WHO _DO_ HAVE FLESH."

" … Stay safe," is all they can say, their eyes dropping to their barely touched mountain of spaghetti. "It's dark and windy out."

Papyrus offers them a wide smile. "YOUR CONCERN IS GREATLY APPRECIATED, BUT I WILL BE FINE. HOWEVER! YOU MUST STAY INSIDE; IT IS NOT SAFE FOR A HUMAN TO BE OUT IN THIS WEATHER! YOU COULD GET SICK, OR "

Frisk watches Papyrus exit the kitchen, exchanging a few words with Sans before he's out of the house. Their chest twitches with concern; they're not sure how much a skeleton weighs but, with how harsh the wind is howling, they can't help but wonder if it'll just pick him up and blow him away. They're almost positive _they_ weigh more than Papyrus, even if he's almost double their height—having organs, muscle, and skin will do that, no matter how small Frisk is in comparison.

_So, I don't understand anything in that book,_ Chara tells them, finally returning to the kitchen a good while after Papyrus has left. They've gotten through about a quarter of their plate by that point, and the ghost eyes it suspiciously before shrugging and sitting down on the other side of the table. _The explanations hurt my head, and Sans reads too fast._

Frisk tilts their head and asks, "What did you expect?"

_I dunno! Something easier. Do you know any of that stuff?_ Frisk shakes their head. _It was trying to explain something called the 'Uncertainty Principle' but then started talking about—particles? What's a particle?_

"A particle?" They repeat. "It … sounds familiar." They think back to their science class, struggling to remember where the word had come up. "A particle … it's a piece of matter?" They'd never learned much about physics other than gravity and space in their accelerated program. "And matter is what makes up the universe."

"right." They whirl around at the drawl and Sans grins from his place in the doorway, his book nowhere to be seen. "your friend is spyin', huh?"

Chara glowers. Frisk reluctantly settles back down in their chair as Sans rounds the table, allowing them to look at him without having to turn so uncomfortably. "I'm sorry."

He waves off their apology. "nah. no biggie. they interested in science?" He raises his brow and although the two children know he can't see Chara, it's a bit unnerving when his pinpricks land where they're sitting. Chara moves, making sure his gaze doesn't follow. "that book've mine isn't a great place to start if they are."

Frisk looks over at Chara who shakes their head, and they frown. They can feel just how curious the ghost is, especially considering that they hadn't known what a particle was—Frisk isn't sure how far education has come in the last 104 years, but it must be at least somewhat significant of a change—, but they know that their friend is too proud to admit to wanting Sans to teach them anything. But even Frisk is curious about it; whatever principal Chara had seen on the page and hadn't understood.

"I'm sorry," they repeat, instead of answering his question. Sans sighs and takes a seat across from them, and they glance over at Chara who shrugs. "Do you—" they cut themselves off abruptly, grimacing at the question that had been ready to leave their lips. They couldn't _afford_ to get comfortable—Sans could get angry if they asked something so rude.

It isn't safe. It isn't _safe._

"do i?" he mimics, and they look down at their mostly full plate. "go ahead, ask whatever you'd like, no _knee_ d t'hold back."

_We don't need to know anything about science from him,_ Chara says, but there's noticeably less bite in their words than usual. _Where's Papyrus, anyways? He left awhile ago, but shouldn't he be back by now? It's been like … twenty minutes. What's there to even do in this weather?_

Frisk shrugs, patting their thighs a few times before curling their toes and asking, "Do you need something?"

"nah." Sans leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "just came for some water and heard the little convo you two had on. your side, obviously," he adds, even though it's not necessary.

They notice he doesn't have his glass of water, but don't mention it. _… You can ask if_ you're _curious,_ Chara tells them, crossing their arms over their chest, _but don't tell him I'm the one who wants to._

Frisk knows a hint when they hear one and they _are_ curious, even if the thought of asking still fills them with nervous butterflies. But having their safety net cut off isn't a good feeling, and they drop their eyes to their hands as they debate whether or not it's worth asking Sans about. Perhaps Papyrus would know; they'd never seen him pick up the book or talk about anything science related, but it couldn't be _too_ much of a stretch, could it?

Their appetite is all but gone, with their belly full of ill-cooked spaghetti and a cinnabunny, and the nerves stop it from returning. They take a deep breath and prepare themselves—for backlash, for anger; for everything they hadn't been shown since they fell down the mountain—and ask, "What's the—the … Uncertainty Principal?"

"that has to do with waves. you know what those are?"

They nod. "The ocean."

Sans chuckles. "not those kinds'a waves; well, kinda," he corrects himself, "that's an example i suppose. a wave is anything that changes in a regular pattern. all particles act like waves." He hops off his chair and heads back into the living room, returning with a ballpoint pen. "here. pass over the news." He holds out a hand, making a grabby motion with his fingers, and they offer the newspaper obediently. He flips it to the back and draws a squiggly line and shows them. "a wave is how energy gets moved around. sound waves, for example; heard of 'em?" They nod. "those carry sound around. there's also these things called 'standing' waves', which are the same as other waves, 'cept they don't look like they're moving."

"Do they still move?" They question, slightly hesitant. Chara has no snark for once, their full attention on Sans' explanation, and he shakes his head.

"nope. you get a standin' wave when two equal waves hit each other from opposite directions. it'll cancel the movement." Their brow furrows, but before they can ask how that would happen he continues, "anyways, the principal. since a wave is always moving, with the exception of standin' waves, you've got how fast it goes, and which way it's goin'. still with me?" They nod, even though they're a bit lost already with the introduction of the 'standing wave'. "the more you know about the speed of wave goes, the less you know about where it is, and vice versa. so if a wave goes fast, and you know how fast it goes, you know less 'bout where it was at a specific point in time."

_Uh … what?_ Frisk can't help but agree with the question. _Why can't we know both?_

Sans seems to notice their growing confusion and asks, "ok. where'd i lose you, kid?"

They curl their toes. "At the standing waves," they admit. "If it doesn't move, can't you tell where it is and its speed?"

"if it's not movin', it has no speed. speed is zero—nada. no movement." He taps the wave he'd drawn with his pointer finger as an example. "this ain't movin, is it? so you know its location, but do you know what speed it was goin' when it hit this?" They shake their head. "now. think of all the other waves 'round us right now, like the sound waves from me talkin', or the fridge humming, or the waves've light from the light bulb. if we don't stop those waves, we'll never know for certain exactly what their exact speed is, or where they are at a point in time without sacrificing the other one."

"Oh." They glance at Chara, as if to ask if the ghost understands. It takes a few seconds before they nod, though their brow is furrowed in thought as they process the information. "So that's the principal?"

"that's the principal," he confirms. "there's more to it, obviously, but you're not gonna understand much else until you've got some better math and science under your belt." Sans finally moves to the cupboard to grab a glass, filling it with water. "basically, waves are weird, and we can't properly observe 'em without changin' its properties."

Chara tugs at them. _Let me. I wanna ask him some stuff._ Frisk easily relents control and Chara immediately asks, "So why do you know all this stuff?"

Sans snorts, placing the half empty glass down on the counter as he turns to look at them. "i was wondering when you'd come out. since you're the one who was snoopin' in the first place." They glower. "'s just the business."

"Are you a scientist? I've never even heard of that stuff before that book of yours. How'd you figure out the age thing, too?"

"whoa, whoa, one question at a time." He knocks back the rest of the glass before refilling it and moving back to the table. "age thing … you mean in human years?" Chara nods. Sans picks the discarded pen back up and beckons them over; when they glare, he sighs. "i'm just showin' you, kid, cool it."

They slide out of the chair, still glaring, and threaten, "If you try anything …"

"yeah, yeah." He waves their threat off, not the least bit unnerved or threatened by it. "you wanna see, or what?"

"Frisk's the one who does," they state. Frisk startles at the comment, but Chara ignores their confusion. "It's not me."

Sans shrugs. "makes no matter. they can see, right?" They nod. "there you go. anyways, 's just a simple equation. use x as the age in human years and set it up like this …"

Chara watches silently as he sets up the equation, with Sans muttering the process so they can follow along. "now multiply out—'s called cross multiplying, but i'm sure you knew that."

_250x=7,200—_

"How did you do that in your head?" They ask suddenly, pointing at the 7,200. "Those are big numbers."

Sans hums. "you know 9 times 8, kid?" They nod. "what's it?"

"72?"

"you askin' or tellin' me?"

Their glare grows. " _Telling."_

"right. now, what's 90 divided by 9?"

"Ten." They make sure not to add any trace of hesitation to their answer, this time. "It's ten."

"and so's 80 divided by 8. right?" They nod. "so that's two tens, which just add a zero to your number. so add two zeroes to 72, and you get 7,200. got it?" Chara blinks; they'd never thought of it that way, and their teachers had certainly never bothered to help them understand big multiplication with their attitude. "now it's just a matter've gettin' x by itself, so divide out that 250. leaves you with—" Sans only hesitates for a few seconds as he does the math, "—28.8, round up to 29. so x equals 29."

Chara sticks a tongue out. "You're definitely a scientist."

He snorts. "this is basic math, provided you're not a kid anymore. didn't have't teach you or frisk about cross multiplication, did i?"

" … Frisk, you knew how, right?" They confirm. Frisk agrees, and Chara nods before saying, "The only thing I don't get is how you divided it in your head so fast. How'd you do that?"

"eh. it's in the business." His grin grows as he flips the paper back over and caps the pen he'd been using. "papyrus should be back soon, so consider that your brain's warm up. it's gonna be a long day, workin' through all these editions." He pats the pile that they'd mainly forgotten existed and finishes with, "time to find out if you're still a _real_ baby or not."

Chara takes another look at the calculations, humming to themselves. "So Papyrus is _just_ his age in human years? But that would only put five years between you two in human years—but over sixty in monster years." When they'd been alive, Toriel and Asgore had never given them an answer if they asked their age; anytime they'd asked, they'd just been told it was 'a very large number' or that they were 'quite a bit older than any human'. The closest they'd gotten to an answer had been from Asriel, but—

But they didn't like to think about that. Of Asriel—of their brother, who had become so twisted and warped since his death. A shallow, perverted version of the monster he'd been so long ago. And Asriel—Flowey, was—

Where was Flowey during the storm?

Chara shoves away from the table, lurching to a stop when they reach for the handle of the front door and skeletal fingers to wrap around their wrist to stop them. "Let _go."_ It's nothing but an order, with their voice barely above a hiss. Asriel had always been so scared during storms; the weather of the capital wasn't very varied but, in the instances that it had stormed, Chara could remember patting his back as he cried under the blankets. Thunder would fill the room and Chara would find themselves holding onto their brother, wishing they had a way to drown out the banging.

Was he okay? Was he scared, was he even _around?_

"there's _snow_  reason to go out in this weather," Sans says calmly, releasing their wrist as requested. He places himself in front of the door instead, leaning back against the wood as he shoves his hands into the pocket of his jacket. It's not the one he usually wears, but they don't particularly care at the moment. "whatever you're hopin' to find out there can wait until the storm is over."

"No it can't." Chara clenches their hands into fists, frustration and worry bubbling to the surface. Frisk attempts to soothe the emotions and coax them back down into something calmer, but Chara doesn't bother to stifle it themselves. They don't fear their emotions, as much as Frisk tries to stop them from feeling anything too negative; they don't even think their friend is aware they're doing it, at this point. It's just … normal, for Frisk. And with the recent loss of control over their own emotions, it doesn't surprise them that Frisk has been going after any potent and extreme emotion, regardless of whether it's theirs or not.

They might've even been upset about it if not for the fact that their careful yet effective suppression had been the only thing getting the both of them through the last run. If not for them, Chara doubts they would've made it away from Hell; the pain and memories would've overwhelmed them; drowned them in misery and flashbacks.

They would've died on that bridge like the miserable creature they were if not for Frisk.

Sans raises a brow. "hm. well, if it's such an emergency, lemme know the details and i can check it out for 'ya."

_"No."_

_Flowey's probably back in the ruins,_ Frisk says, hoping that it could at least offer Chara a modicum of comfort.  _He can go underground, so I doubt he'll stay in the cold snow during a storm—and Snowdin Forest is too big for us to look through in this weather._

They grit their teeth, pushing back the frustration that rears to life with those words. It's a logical argument, but the thought of their brother out in the snow, either freezing to death or scared of the wind stops them from accepting the argument. "Where's Papyrus?" They ask tersely, raising their eyes to meet his. He stares right back down at them, completely unbothered by their hostility, and it only makes them _angrier._  He wasn't their parent—he wasn't even their guardian. Toriel had entrusted them to his protection, but that didn't mean he had the right to  _dictate_ what they did. "He should be back by now."

"he didn't tell you?" They shake their head. Sans sighs, but says, "he went to visit undyne, and since there's a good chance the riverman's outta commission during the storm, he's gotta take the long way." He shrugs, pausing when he sees how disgruntled they are. "if you're worried about him—"

"I'm not worried," they argue. "I'm just wondering. It's gonna take him hours to walk there." They fiddle with their hands, glancing around the room before abruptly asking, "Why's Papyrus friends with someone like—like … like _her_ , anyways?" Papyrus was kind and caring while Undyne—the Devil was merciless and cruel. They can't see Papyrus being friendly with someone like her, but—

But he is.

Chara doesn't understand.

"first've all, if you know your way around waterfall it doesn't take long to get places." Sans sighs, stepping away from the door and beckoning for them to follow him. "as for their friendship; well, y'know how papyrus wants to be part of the royal guard." They're tempted to rip the door open and run out, just because he isn't blocking the way anymore, but it would mean subjecting themselves to soaking wet socks and cold feet; so, reluctantly, they follow, slouching down on the couch as Sans takes his earlier seat. "one day he traveled to her house. of course, she shut the door on him 'cause it was midnight. but he stayed there all night, waiting—and when she woke up and saw his dedication, decided to give him some 'warrior training'."

They blink. "Warrior training? I thought he cooked with her."

"it's … eh, it's a work in progress," Sans replies. They swear his expression is that of a grimace for a split second, but before they can try and work out the nuances of his facial expressions it's back to normal. "half'n half. it's de _bait_ able whether undyne's really the best monster to teach anyone to cook, but hey—maybe one day, they'll make somethin' good."

"I'm guessing you don't know how to cook, then." Frisk sighs inside their head, still unnerved by Chara's ability to ask questions so easily, but doesn't scold them for prying, or for their accusatory tone. "Since it's always Papyrus who makes dinner."

He picks up the book from where he'd left it and flips to a random page. "'suppose so."

_He has to know how to cook something,_ Frisk says, _since he's older than Papyrus. … Did he raise him?_

"Probably." They glare at Sans, despite the fact that he hasn't even looked up from his book. "Do I have to stay in here?"

"nah. just be careful you don't end up with cabin _femur,_ we're due for a long and stormy night." They roll their eyes, flipping him the finger as they yank the door to their room open. "i'll let'cha know when papyrus is back."

"Whatever," they grumble. "Just leave us alone."

The door slams behind them, all but shaking the walls with the amount of force put behind it, and Sans stares at the wood for a long moment before sighing and sinking further into the worn cushions, his book all but forgotten.

* * *

 "A-Are you sure this is a good id—idea?" Frisk stammers out, shuddering as a particularly cold gust of air blows through the empty town. The snow is nearly up to their ankles and each step sends them sinking into it, leaving the edges of their pants soaked right through. Despite being beneath Mount Ebott, Snowdin manages to have a distinct day and night cycle; when night sets in, the glittering lights far above head dim, and when day comes around, the lights glow enough to light up the entire area. The storm throws that cycle off a bit, with the tumultuous and violent weather patterns that, quite frankly, shouldn't be possible, and with none of the stores open the entire town is basked in darkness. "If Sans finds out w-we're out, then—"

_He said he'd leave us alone until Papyrus gets back; he's got at least an hour if he's actually walking all the way there and back. There's no way he'll get to those houses we saw last time before we get back from checking for Flowey._ Still, Chara floats behind them, keeping watch for any sign that they were being followed. _And if he loses it, I'll deal with it._

Frisk frowns, pulling their hat further down their head and adjusting their mittens. "I don't think this is a good idea." The last time they'd snuck out, they'd fallen down a mountain. Granted, Frisk _had_ gone looking for the hole, fully aware that there wasn't much of a chance of returning—waking up in the Underground was something they hadn't expected—but it didn't change the fact that wandering after dark tended to spell out bad news, especially if you added a storm to it. "How will we kn—know if—" they sneeze, the motion jerking their body abruptly, "if—we never find him? When do w-we stop looking?"

Chara crosses their arms, frowning at their questions. _We're just gonna go back a little bit. Not too far. Besides, you brought your bag,_ they pat the overstuffed backpack sitting on their back, _so even if it takes longer than we expect we've got stuff in here to deal with that._

It was stupidly easy to step into the kitchen and snatch a few cinnabunnies without Sans caring, even if their usual thermos was off limits due to a lack of hot chocolate, and if they counted the blood-stained sweaters and shirts they'd been hiding in the pack they technically have enough layers to work as a makeshift blanket in the case the whole thing goes south. Still; that doesn't mean they're _comfortable_ with the idea of getting lost in the snow.

Frisk makes sure to SAVE before heading out towards the forest, squeezing their eyes shut when the wind slices against their cheeks. It's harder to cross the bridge with the wind shoving them back and forth, and Chara holds onto their coat tightly in the unlikely case the wind pushes hard enough to send them flying; the chasm below them may not be filled with spikes, but a fall from that death would kill them regardless of what lay at the bottom. They pass the snow poffs and dog house, noting that a flap now covers the entry way, but when nothing comes bouncing out towards them they hurry through the ever growing snow and continue towards the heart of the forest. "S-So where are we look—l-looking?"

_This way, c'mon._ Chara flies ahead, crossing the icy path without a single problem. Frisk is significantly less lucky, slipping and tripping several times as they try to keep their balance, and Chara watches silently before they sigh and do it for them. They relent control once the ice is at their back, snorting in amusement when they see Frisk kick a few piles of snow away from them. _You're clumsy._

Frisk shivers, but doesn't argue.

All of their previous SAVE points are gone, but considering that not a single monster comes out to attack them neither of the children can find enough effort to care. The dog houses are all closed up tight, the trees looming overhead, far larger than they remember them being, and basking them in a dark shadow that stops them from wandering off the main path. It's as they pass one of the sentry points—peering over the counter to check, just in case—that Frisk admits, "I-I think this is a l—lost cause, C-Chara." The hat and mittens help to keep their ears and fingers warm, but it doesn't do much to help their trembles. "Wh—wh-why would F-Flowey be out in th—" they sneeze once again, "this—wea-weather? He would freeze."

_Just a little further,_ they urge. _If we don't see him by the time we reach the tile puzzle, we'll head back; deal?_

Frisk hesitates, but reluctantly agrees. "D-Deal."

In regular weather, it wouldn't be more than another ten or fifteen minute walk. The path is simple, without many branches for them to get lost exploring—as if they would, in this weather—, and monsters tend to be sparse for that very reason.

But with the heavy wind and snow fueling the storm, and no one to clear out the excess fluff, the path becomes more arduous. What would usually be a ten minute trip becomes twenty five, easy; with snow getting in their shoes and the wind shoving at their back, slicing at their cheeks and neck with the viciousness of a blade, the darkness of the forest amplified by the darkness of the storm, the easy path becomes an obstacle that they cannot clear without a struggle. Their hands ache, even with their mittens to protect them from the cold, and their throat is beginning to grow raw from breathing in the the frigid air. "C-C-Chara," they stammer, tensing their shoulders in an attempt to conserve warmth. "C-Chara I'm c—cold. C-Can we go ba—back?" They missed the warmth of their room; not even the thick layers of jackets can prevent the cold from seeping into their skin in a way it hadn't even on their first time through the forest. "Chara, pl-please."

… _Yeah. Let's go back,_ they agree, their brow furrowing in worry when they realize just how badly Frisk is shaking. _Asriel's probably in the ruins, like you said. He's—there's no chance he's out here. He's too smart for that._

They just nod, desperate to get out of the cold. Chara watches uneasily as they stumble through the snow. _Do you want me to—_ ?  Frisk shakes their head. _I really don't mind; I'm the reason we're out here, anyways. I know you're cold._

"I-It's fine." Their throat and eyes burn, their socks are soaked, leaving their toes cold and numb, and worst of all—

Worst of all is that they're _alone._ It's just them and Chara and, while that isn't anything new, being stuck in a storm definitely is. They can deal with monsters, provided they are allowed to cut them down when it becomes too difficult; they can deal with walking, as long as it isn't too much at once. But the silent, barren, deserted forest, stained with shadows that lurk just outside their field of vision and snow that piles on their shoulders in an attempt to run them into the ground—that is a scenario that they can't feel safe in.

For the first time, Frisk honestly wishes they hadn't listened to their friend's request. They wish they'd said no; they wish they'd gone with their gut feeling instead of agreeing without much more than a little push—because the storm makes even the straightforward path to the ice into a journey.

There's the urge to stop, to curl up in the snow and let the coldness wrap them up until they can't feel anymore; because at least in death they'd be sent back to their SAVE. Except, in doing so, Sans would figure out they left. He'd figure out they disobeyed him—and then they would get it.

If they weren't so numb, they might've just flinched. But instead, it only fuels them forward; they can't afford to give up here. There's too much on the line.

Except—

_Frisk! Watch out!_ Chara screams, just a second before they're yanked forward and a blur crashes through the spot they'd just been standing in and slams into the thick tree trunk to their left. Their eyes widen in surprise, too startled to move as the creature groans and stumbles to its feet. _Are you okay?_

"I'm f-fine," they reply. "What i-is that?"

_Dunno._ Chara moves over to it, frowning. _It's got horns, but … it's decorated?_

Memories of the shop owner scolding them comes to mind. "It's that mon—monster we w-were told not to—p-pick on." They cough, wincing when the action aggravates their already raw throat. "We sh-should go."

It finally gets it bearings back and turns, beady black eyes focusing on the child, and Frisk freezes. It huffs, shaking its head desperately in an attempt to dislodge the lights and socks that have been wrapped around its horns. "Get outta here!" It snaps. "If you're planning on playing a trick too, you're not gonna get away with it! I'm _sick_ of being picked on!"

"I-I'm not," they gasp. "I'm j-just going—home."

It huffs again, hooves scrambling to gain a grip on the snow-covered ground. "Well then scram! Before I make you!"

They don't need to be told twice. The monster continues to struggle with the decorations, scraping its horns against the tree bark and ground, and although they feel somewhat bad for it they don't dare try and approach. "D-does that me—mean—"

_Stop talking; you're gonna make yourself colder,_ Chara says suddenly. _If you wanna talk, I can take over and you can—_

They shake their head again. Although Chara was the one who pressured them into coming out during the storm, they're not entirely sure the ghost will be _able_ to navigate in the darkness; they had experience from the surface and walk there, at least. Plus, it was absolutely _miserable;_ there was no reason to put their friend through the agony of trudging through storm and wind if Frisk could do it for them.

They approach the ice miserably and brace themselves for the inevitable and unavoidable falls that are due to follow, only to scream when something rams into their back and sends them sprawling across the ice. They struggle to get to their feet before Chara hastily pulls them up and attempts to herd them off the ice as the monster recovers. Still, it's easier said than done; Frisk's back aches like no tomorrow, pulsating and throbbing from the impact, and they struggle to stay standing—and then, suddenly, they're shoved from control as Chara takes over and closes the rest of the distance of the ice.

Or they would've, if something else hadn't lept out from the treeline. It's enough to upset the fragile balance they'd managed, and just enough to send them tumbling the side—

Right

                                                       Off

                                                                                                                  The

                                                                                                                                                                             Edge.

_Chara!_ Frisk screams, right before they slam into the ground arm first. A deafening shriek echoes through the forest, accompanied by a sickening _crack_ as pain flares through the limb, before it goes silent. _C-Chara, are you alright?_ They rip Chara out of control just in time for another wave to hit them. The pain is enough to override the cold bite of snow, barely registering through the stars in their vision, and Frisk whimpers, clutching their injured arm. Chara hisses out a breath, looking up at the monster staring down at them from the top of the cliff, and they bite out a curse that it can't hear when it turns tail and runs off the way it'd came. Frisk hiccups, unable to even sit up; throughout their trip through the underground, they'd been impaled, cut, smashed and thrown into walls; but the only times they'd sustained any broken bones had been through Chara. 

The pain of a broken arm, though, isn't familiar; it's foreign and worse than they'd ever imagined it would be. Thankfully, they can't feel the bone sticking out of their skin, but that doesn't stop them from pressing their cheek into the snow in hopes of distracting themselves from the burn of a broken bone. _I-It's okay, you're okay._ Chara tries to take control, but Frisk is firm in their hold of their body, unwilling to let them suffer through the pain for them. _Why won't you let me—?_

"I-It's my fa-fault," they whisper. "I'm s—slow, if I'd b-been fast—" they gasp when their attempt to sit up jostles the injury and puts them right back where they'd started, nearly overwhelmed with the urge to scream. It hurts. It  _hurts._ "Faster—if I w-wasn't slow, it wouldn't have happ-happen— _happened._ "

The wind isn't nearly as strong down there as it'd been on the higher ledge, but in return the snow is far thicker. They aren't even entirely sure where they _fell;_ there's a path that leads up, but the climb is steep and nearly overflown with sleet and snow. It would be an arduous climb on a normal day—but on a day like this, it's all but impossible for them.

Frisk swallows back their fear, squeezing their eyes shut to stave off the tears. They expect for the pain in their arm to numb as time goes on, but it doesn't let up. The monster who scared them is gone; there are no Ice Caps or skeletons to help them up, no friendly monster who would help them climb the collapsed path out of this ditch—it's just them and Chara.

They're alone.

They're _afraid._

_Here—c'mon. I'll help you—_ Frisk hiccups when Chara shoves their hands under their injured arm and hoists them up. _I-I'm sorry; I know it hurts. But we have to … get … out of here._ Their voice trails off. A look around them shows nothing promising; the only way they can go is forward. _It's gonna be okay. We're gonna be fine—_ you're _gonna be fine._ There's a phantom pain in their own arm, something that Chara knows will linger whether they take over or not, and while they know that it shouldn't be possible—they shouldn't be able to feel anything when they aren't in control—it had been changed long ago. So far in the past that there was no way to go back anymore.

"It hu-hurts," Frisk whispers. They're past the point of caring that they've shed tears; the adults aren't around, and Chara wouldn't punish them for crying. "Is it—it's—b-broken. It's broken." They repeat those two words almost frantically, gripping the injury without a single care for the fact that it makes it hurt even more. "What d-do I do?"

_We gotta get out've here, first,_ Chara replies, keeping their voice as calm as possible; the fear in their gut doesn't make it easy, but Frisk is too out of it to notice. _Just—wait here. I'm gonna look ahead, and see if we can get out this way._ They clench their jaw before flying off ahead to examine the rest of the path. It leads into a large cave, dropping off into a steep cliff dive a few meters ahead of that cave, and Chara glances inside to check if it's safe before returning to Frisk. Frisk watches them silently, their shoulders trembling—though whether it's from the cold, or pain, Chara isn't sure—and Chara nudges them forward as gently as they can. _Seems like there's a cave up ahead, so let's go there. It should protect us from the storm, until it's over._

Their lips twitch at the awkward sentence, but they nod regardless. It seems like every step jostles their arm more, even with it curled up against their chest, and once they've reached the back of the cave they all but collapse against the dark wall. The mushrooms from Waterfall surround them, the only light source in the entire room, and Chara motions at their arm. _Do you … d'you wanna check it? Maybe it's just sprained._

"I-I doubt it." Frisk's expression scrunches up when they attempt to move their arm, and they exhale shakily. "I'm sorry, Chara."

_You're sorry ?_ They repeat, baffled. _Why the hell are you sorry? I'm the one who convinced you to leave in the first place—it was my stupid idea to look for Flowey—Asriel—for him. You didn't wanna, but I made you._

They shake their head. "You didn't m-make me; I … agreed on my own." There's no way for them to get their backpack off like this so Frisk resigns themselves to having it press uncomfortably against their back as they say, "So … it's not your fault. It's mine. I should've said no."

_That's not—_

"Golly, that's not how it works at all!" Their gaze snaps over to the yellow flower and he grins at their baffled expression. "What, did I surprise you? Hehe. Bet you never expected to see a flower out in this storm, huh?" He winks before burrowing underground and popping up at their injured side. "You sure took a tumble, didn't'cha?"

_Asriel,_ Chara notes. _Or … Flowey, whatever. So he isn't scared?_ They study his expression, reaching out to touch his petals; their hand goes right through him, as expected, but all they do is sigh. _So it really was a waste of time?_

Frisk swallows hard. "I'm fine."

"Fine? Buddy … I could hear you crying all the way by the river!" He reaches out a vine to touch at the area, drawing a hiss of pain from the child. "Hurts? Well, I'm not surprised; you fell pretty hard! Why, I bet if wasn't for that snow, well …" his grin stretches into something sharper, his teeth glimmering in what they suppose is supposed to be a menacing fashion, "you would've just been a big mess of blood and guts splattered on the ground."

They wince when his vine wraps around their arm and tries to tug it away from their chest. "What do you want?" They ask, thankful that they're able to stabilize their voice. "Are you—getting out of the storm?"

"Hm? Oh, no, no; you've got it _all_ wrong." They flinch when the vine's edge begins to saw through the layers of fabric, but attempting to yank their arm away leaves them screaming, all but bent over the wound. "Stop _moving_ _!_ " Flowey snaps, yanking their arm even harder. "If you don't stop screaming, I'll _give you_ something to scream about."

They go silent, their entire posture stiffening at the words. There are no tears anymore—any trace of emotion has been wiped from their expression; the words are enough to still them into silence. Their parents loved to make those kinds of threats—granted, it was mostly when they were younger and hadn't realized that, in order to survive, they couldn't afford to let themselves fear. But those lessons had been hard ingrained into them at this point. 

They remember their father screaming, spittle spraying from his lips as he ranted about how much of a disaster they were; about how, if not for them being born, he and their mother could've been  _happy._ Tears had only provoked him, and crying when he'd shove them too hard or lash out only made him angrier; the best they could do was take it silently. It ended faster, that way.

Chara doesn't have to look to know that  deep, guttural fear is shining in their eyes and their chest burns with anger. Taking over is stupidly easy, with Frisk still reeling over the threat and the memories it brought forth, and Chara lashes their leg out in an attempt to kick the flower. "Watch what you _say."_

Flowey glowers and goes to say something, only to stop when he realizes that Frisk is no longer around. "C-Chara! You're here!" It's practically a 180 from his previous tone, and suddenly his motions are much, much, _much_ more gentle. "I'm sorry—I thought it was that other one. The impostor."

"Don't be stupid," they snap. "This is Frisk's body; if anyone's the impostor—" they clench their hand into a tight fist, "if … it would be me. _I'm_ the impostor."

Flowey frowns. "What are you talking about? You're _you._ "

Chara shakes their head. "Whatever; it doesn't matter. Are you—" they look down at the vine, stopped halfway down to their skin, "what are you doing?"

"Oh. I'm gonna set this for you." He wiggles eagerly, as if setting their broken arm is the most exciting thing in the world. "After all, we don't need that trash bag of a skeleton knowing you got out of the house, now do we? We both know how that would end up."

They blink, furrowing their brow. "… No. Did—did he _hurt you?"_

Flowey pauses, staring at them oddly, before he shrugs and continues the process of slicing off their sleeves. "Chara, you know … I could RESET before they fell down here. You remember, right? I told you—before the world RESET." He glances up at their expression, a scowl fixed on his face, and asks, "That was _them,_ wasn't it."

"… So what if it was?" They ask, hackles up at the threat in his voice. Frisk jolts in what they suppose might just be fear, and it only fuels their anxiety over the situation. "You won't hurt them."

"But Chara—"

_"You won't hurt them."_ Flowey goes silent and Chara thumps their head back against the stone wall. "Even—even Sans," they spit out his name like it's poison, "hasn't attacked them since we came back. Us. So if you try …"

He creates another vine just so he can wave it in a placating manner. "Ugh … fine. But only because you asked, Chara." He pauses at the last layer, the vine twitching before he asks, "Why do you like them so much? I thought you hated humans; you wanted to _destroy_ them."

" … A lot of humans are scum," they admit. "A  _lot_ of them. Kids are cruel, and adults don't care enough to do anything about it. But …" They drop their gaze, feeling their shoulders slouch under the heavy exhaustion, "Frisk has gone through bad things, too. And when we were suffering, they tried to help me. It's been a hundred years since I fell, Asriel—" 

He snarls, yanking their arm so abruptly that they're sent stumbling forward, barely able to bite back a cry of pain. "Don't  _ever_ call me that," he hisses. His expression is beginning to warp into something grotesque and _wrong_ ; something threatening that leaves the hair on the back of their neck standing up. "Asriel is  _dead._ Asriel died a crybaby weakling who was too much of a wimp to ever—" Flowey trembles, "— _ever_ do anything right."

"That's not—"

"Yes it is!" His grip is agonizingly tight; enough to leave them gasping and squirming and choking back a scream. "How could you have changed so much, Chara? This … it's their fault. They did this to you." They squeeze their eyes shut, trembling and gasping for air through the feeling of having their broken arm constricted so hard, and Flowey rears up so that he's level with their eyes. "I want to talk to  _them."_

Through the pain, they snap out, "Why—so you can hurt Frisk instead of me?"

His smile is anything but pleasant. "Of course! I could never hurt you Chara; you're my best friend, after all, no matter how much you change. My partner in crime. But  _they_ ruined it, and  _they_ need to be punished."

_Chara?_  Frisk asks, their voice trembling.  _It's—It's alright. I deserve it; he's right. I failed, and because I failed—_

"Ugh! Both of you  _shut up!"_ Their chest burns with anger, ignited and roaring through their veins. They want to lash out and scream; neither of the two  _get it._ They don't understand why it was a bad idea in the first place; why it's  _okay_ to mess up—the benefits of them giving up and RESETTING. "This isn't Frisk's fault—and Asr— _Flowey,_ " they correct themselves, "don't you  _ever_ tell me it is."

Flowey trembles, his threatening demeanor gone, and a spark of fear crosses his face before it's shut down. "I-I'm sorry, Chara. I just … I don't understand. I don't understand anything, Chara." He loosens his grip and averts his gaze. "Just let me fix your arm, and I'll go on my way. I don't have any healing magic, but at least I can put it in place for you."

The process is painful and reveals the scars that stand out so prominently on their arm; Flowey has the smarts not to so much as mention it, even if it took a few seconds to process what he was seeing. They do their best not to scream at the feeling, but even muffled it's obvious what the sound is meant to be. "Hehe, sorry … not much I can do about the pain." He giggles again but, despite the seem switch in personality, he still won't look at them. "Now, you've gotta make yourself a sling! But I'm sure you know how to do that, right Chara? You know everything!"

They're not sure if he's mocking them or not; Asriel had always had that same, strange, unusually inflated belief as to what they could and could not do. As if they were capable of everything and incapable of failure—and while Chara will admit that they'd fed into those beliefs just a little bit, it's discomforting to have that reminder thrown back in their face. "I don't," they say, "I've never broken my arm."

"Oh." He tilts his head, not unlike Frisk does, before smiling. "Well gosh! Looks like I'll just have to do it for you, then." He moves to unzip their backpack, eyeing the assortment of clothes tossed in, and settles on a long sleeve. "This is gonna have to do!"

Flowey teaches them to make the splint without any further insults. Chara's almost positive it has to do with the fact that Frisk has taken the backseat; his hostility was practically nonexistent when interacting with Chara, with only a few exceptions thus far. Asriel had been like that, too, though it extended to pretty much everyone. He was soft and kind—the opposite of this flower before them. 

For the umpteenth time since they'd figured out that Flowey was Asriel, they wondered just what happened to make him this way.

"There you go," he pats the sling with the same vine that had been on the verge of snapping their arm in another place, gentle in comparison to its earlier vice grip. "Hehe … seems like there's still some things I can do for you. You're still my best friend, after all these years, Chara; you know, I'd do anything for you, right?"

" … Right." This isn't right—it isn't  _right._ First it was Frisk and now it was Flowey, basing their entire existence and reason for living on Chara; they can feel the pressure and stress of the situation on their shoulders, can feel the frustration and discomfort weighing so hard on their chest that they're sure it will cave in at some point.

It hurts. It's too  _much._

"Flowey," they begin, almost bitterly, "we need to get out of here. Can you get someone—Papyrus. Can you get Papyrus and tell him where we are?" They know Sans has a particular dislike for the flower, for whatever reason, given his hostility towards him, and would rather not have him skewered like they'd been. "I have no clue when this storm's gonna let up; but if we're stuck here too long, something bad could happen to our arm." There's also the possibility of frostbite and hypothermia, even if the cave is significantly warmer and shielded from the weather outside, but they choose not to mention that. "So—so … so you can find someone, right? You can get us out."

He's silent for what feels like an eternity and Chara can feel their patience running thin. They're seconds away from snapping at him when he huffs. "I have no clue where Papyrus is," he admits. "And there's no way I'm gonna get the trash bag to come here. But … I guess I could try. But only because you asked, Chara."

Another reminder of their obsessive compulsion to do anything they asked of him. Chara hates it. "He's probably in Waterfall—he had a—a lesson. With Undyne." Their stomach churns and, suddenly, the pain of a broken arm doesn't seem all that bad. "Don't let her come here. Got it?"

"Sure! You can count on me; just stay here." He giggles, playfully sticking a tongue out with a one-eyed wink. "Not that you really can, anyways! Hehe … see you later, Chara." He disappears back underground, leaving the two children all alone, and Chara slips out of the body so that Frisk can come back out. 

The child says nothing, their eyes still haunted and distant, and Chara leans their head on their shoulder. It's just about all they can offer in terms of comfort, with one of Frisk's arms in a sling and the other wrapped around their waist.  _He'll find someone; Flowey's so eager to please me, that he'll probably search the entire Underground for Papyrus,_ they say, in an attempt to draw even a sliver of life and recognition back into their friend.  _Everything's gonna be okay._

Frisk wants to trust them; they want to believe that, as much as Flowey hates them, his adoration and love for Chara is stronger. But something rotten rests in their stomach, a hole that leaves nothing but dread in its wake. They're in what's very likely a fairly unknown cave, considering they had to fall off a ledge to get there, and with the snow caved in and blocking the usual path out they're unsure whether anyone would think to look down here.

They squeeze their eyes shut and wish they could reach into their bag for a cinnabunny; it wouldn't heal their broken arm, but it was something.

_Someone's gonna come; Papyrus' gonna find us._  Frisk sighs softly, gazing down at their bruised and swollen skin. The scars look even worse than usual, a stark contrast to the bruises mottled all the way up their forearm. They're too afraid to move, in the off chance they mess up the sling Flowey made for them, and can only hope that, if someone comes and finds them, they'll be too distracted by the very obviously broken bone than the scars on it.

They hug themselves tighter and try to believe in Chara's words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things have been really hard for me the last couple weeks. I've been pushing and trying to avoid it but the truth is, I'm struggling a lot. This story has always been a way for me to distract from my issues; my inability to form lasting emotional attachments, my fears of abandonment, my lack of care for people, my detached personality, all of those things have been projected forward and now I'm trying to fix a character who embodies some of my least favorite traits about myself. I can't fix myself in real life, so I do it to a made up character whose responses and people they interact with can be tailored to my exact desires. It's both helpful and harmful. I suppose it's the reason why writing this has been so hard, because I'd like to wrap it up nice and neatly and do it quickly, but the truth is it's not a quick process.
> 
> Sometimes my own recovery feels like I'm bashing myself over the heat with a metal baseball bat and writing feels the same way, so I'm forced to stop. I know this probably seem like an extreme feeling, but this story used to flow so easily. Now, I feel more like I'm prying my own vulnerabilities out so I can help Frisk and Chara deal with the pieces I'd shoved into them and it's scary. It's hard. I feel bad that I can't throw out updates every 3 days like before.
> 
> I guess the point of this note here is to let everyone know that even if my updates become slower, I have plans to keep going. And that I'm approaching this as a form of therapy. I'm not sure. It's easy to write these characters as suffering and having a hard time, but hard to write them just existing and enjoying life, especially when I'm currently incapable of doing so in my own life. You know that feeling that when something is gone, it's never existed? I've always considered it a twisted version of object permanence; when good times aren't around, I forget they ever existed and how it felt when it was here. Because in my brain, it never existed. So if the lighter scenes seem odd I'm sorry; right now, it feels like I'm navigating uncharted territory, which might not make sense. Since everything right now has to do with my poor emotional/mental state, school, and video games, that's about all I can connect with, so anything outside that feels foreign. I'm hoping for better days and hoping that if I can force myself to write out 'normalness' that maybe I'll remember what it felt like.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm alone, I'm complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many POV's in this chapter. Also, this was a very hard chapter for me to write; not in terms of content, because the actual writing itself was easy, but in tone. It's easy to write a scene. It is not so easy to convey the right emotions and feelings of that scene. I have poured so much of myself into this story and I feel that this chapter especially displays this; this is a turning point. It is a big turning point.
> 
> I'd like to think I did a good job; I am happy with this chapter, as difficult as it was to write. I am satisfied, and I hope everyone else is as well. It's long, but there was no way for me to write this correctly had I tried to shorten it.
> 
> Quick things to note:  
> 1\. While Undyne is my favourite character, I don't feel confident in my ability to write her. So if anyone catches something that seems off or is contradictory to her *canon* personality, please let me know. Likewise, if anyone has tips, please let me know as well. I always want to write these characters as accurately as possible, but I don't know them all.  
> 2\. Point 1 applies to Papyrus, as well. I feel more confident with him, but not entirely so. I always strive to be as accurate and sincere to the characters as a whole, while also fleshing them out and not leaving them or falling back on them as a caricature, but sometimes I make mistakes. So please, let me know, if it is something glaringly against their canon personality (not their fanon interpretation).  
> 3\. Everyone, besides the obviously stated children and teenagers, are all adults. It's my personal belief that in the game, they censor their language because they're around a child, and so that belief will and does carry onto this story. Not that I think the UT characters swear constantly, but they don't completely omit swear words. Just like (many) actual adults; of course, there are always exceptions, but that's a given.  
> 4\. I *still* am mad that I can't add more Papyrus yet. Next chapter, I swear! Just ... ugh.  
> 5\. Character development ...?
> 
> Warning: This chapter alludes and makes references to past sexual abuse. There is nothing graphic, but I feel a warning is due just in case.

_ It's the comfort of beautiful dreams every night _

_ Scared of things changing _

_ Stopping our steps forward is our worst fear _

_ - _

While the cave does a fairly decent job of protecting them from the raging storm, there’s still an awful chill that lingers no matter how much time passes. The mushrooms light is enough to just barely enough for them to see; the darkness of the cave swallows the light hungrily and the usually bright light is nothing but a dull and weak echo of what it once was. Frisk doesn’t know how long it’s been since Flowey left; their arm, now set back in place and splinted, has gone from a rippling pain to a dull ache, provided they don’t jostle it. Chara sits at their side, their knees drawn up to their chest and a weary expression on their face.

They wish that Flowey had been able to help them remove their backpack, if only so they could remove the cinnabunny and offer it to Chara. “This isn’t your fault,” Frisk says quietly. It’s the first thing either of them have said since Flowey’s departure. “You didn’t know this would happen.”

_ So?  _ They reply.  _ I’m the one that pushed you to leave in the first place. I’m the one who just kept—kept pushing, even though I knew you didn’t wanna leave. If I’d just shut my mouth and dealt with it this wouldn’t’ve ever happened. _

“ … I chose to leave.” Frisk grasps the fabric of their pants with their free hand, curling their toes in their wet boots. “Even though I didn’t want to, I did it anyways. That isn’t your fault—”

_ Yes it is!  _ Chara grits their teeth, their entire body tensing before they consciously force themselves to relax. As angry as Frisk’s words make them, they can’t afford to let it show so blatantly, especially not right now.  _ I pushed you; you said no, and I pushed you and kept asking. I used my fears against you.  _ They want to punch the floor or wall and kick something— _ anything,  _ just so they won’t have to feel so stuffed and pent up with anger; so potent and powerful that they can feel it in their gut, festering and churning until they're all but shaking. Instead, they take a good few seconds to breathe, trying to calm themselves. Frisk doesn’t deserve their anger—it isn’t  _ their  _ fault Chara has anger problems and doesn't know how to deal with that.

_ I’m the one to blame here, not you.  _ They’re more composed, now, after taking the time to breathe and focus on something else, and turn to Frisk with an unreadable expression.  _ You didn’t know this would happen, either. I—I mess up, Frisk.  _ They struggle for a moment, hesitant to continue, _ I’m not perfect and I make mistakes. I-I make … I’ve  _ made  _ a lot of mistakes. I’m not perfect, but you—  _ they swallow back the lump in their throat, a combination of their anger and fear, and hope it’s enough,  _ y-you … you just keep acting like I am. I  _ hate  _ it. _

Frisk says nothing; they won’t even look at them, and Chara fears they’ve made a grave mistake by sharing their frustrations. Frisk is already in such a bad spot—and while Chara isn’t exactly sure how the their words could possibly be twisted into something else, they’re sure there’s some way to do so; especially with Frisk. The silence stretches on and Chara understands, suddenly, why Frisk had become so distressed during their talk with Sans. Their stomach twists with dread, a pit that devours and feasts on anything it can find—the anger has been eaten up by the pit, and they’re about to apologize when Frisk finally speaks.

“… I don’t think you’re perfect.” The words are stiff, almost staccato. “I don’t. It’s just—” Frisk is the one hesitating this time, mulling over their words, “you’re better than me. You’re good, you aren’t a monster, and—and … you’re good. You aren’t a monster or bad,” they repeat, unable to finish what they’d intended to say, and as per usual fall back on the only thing they know is the truth. But although they’re used to referring to themselves in such a way, for whatever reason it makes them feel uneasy this time around. Something was off; like they’d put a puzzle piece in the wrong spot or tried to shove a square block through a circular hole, or when asked to find the differences between two pictures. It feels  _ off  _ but they don't know why.

It doesn’t feel good.

_ But I’m not.  _ Frisk finally looks at them and Chara reluctantly looks up, meeting their eyes.  _ Frisk, I’ve—I’ve done bad things. I got Asriel killed, I almost killed Asgore, I wanted to hurt people. I wanted to hurt everyone at that stupid orphanage and I would’ve if Asriel didn’t stop me. _ Chara blinks a few times, but no tears fall; they would waste no more tears on the life they’d lived before their death.  _ And I talked you into killing all those monsters. _

Frisk grips their pants tighter, hating the emotions swirling in their chest. They miss how easy it had been to force their emotions away, how easy it’d been to keep their composure and remember the rules. They miss—

They miss the stability it had provided.

“If I wasn’t so weak—”

_ You aren’t weak!  _ Chara snaps, their voice climbing to a yell,  _ Stop, just—just stop. Stop saying that. Stop  _ blaming yourself  _ for everything that goes wrong; we’re a team. We’re friends. We’re … inseparable.  _ Both remember the grotesque state of their SOUL and a shudder runs down their spine. They hadn't dared to check their SOUL of their own volition and when Sans would check, to make sure it hadn't worsened or to see if it had gotten any better, they'd both squeezed their eyes shut until it was put away.  _ And if we’re a team, that means we both gotta take responsibility; you can’t be the only one. You can’t just—just treat me like I’m perfect, or that I can’t mess up, or—or— _

Frisk swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”

_ Are you?  _ Chara prompts.  _ Are you really? _

Frisk trembles, hating the feeling of their emotions taking over. They try to fight them back; push them away and lock them in the box they belong in. Wall them off, so that they’ll never have to feel something so human when they were everything but. 

Fear chokes them and, suddenly, the idea of freezing in the snow doesn’t seem so bad. They were a failure—something that was wretched and rotten at birth. A mistake. They’d ruined their parents lives and ruined the lives of so many monsters prior to their RESET, and now they were ruining Chara—and on top of that, they had failed 

“I want to go home,” they whisper, their voice cracking under the weight of their emotions. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

At least, on the surface, they knew how to act and what their role was. There was no possibility or misconception on what they were expected to be and expected to do. They didn’t love their parents and were fairly desensitized to their ill-treatment; they’d come to accept that their parents despised them and that the neighbors and their children had no desire to associate with them. But Frisk understood that role even better, now—it would be so, so, _so_ much easier with knowledge that it wasn’t just their mother and father’s way of hurting them.

And if returning meant they could rebuild their walls, Frisk would take it in a heartbeat.

“I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry, Chara.”

The despair in their voice is enough to erase every bit of Chara's anger, guilt and sadness filling the void it leaves in its wake.  _ It’s—it’s okay. I’m sorry too. … I’m sure Papyrus will come soon,  _ they attempt, hoping that it might cheer their friend up even a sliver. But there’s no change, inward or outward.

Chara wants to scream. They want to lash out and destroy; anything to get rid of the overwhelming anger they have for themselves. Anytime they try to help, it always does the opposite of what they intend it to do.

_ It’s okay. We’re okay, you’re okay; I promise.  _ Their shoulders shudder, their teeth grinding together as another wave of anger hits them. They can’t afford to lash out; Frisk wouldn’t understand—they’d think it was directed towards  _ them  _ when it was anything but. They just needed to keep it together until an appropriate situation comes around.  _ We’re gonna be okay. _

* * *

Something feels wrong.

After living through so many damn RESETS—only two of which were from the kid, thankfully—, Sans had come to learn to trust his gut.

When something felt wrong, there usually  _ was  _ something wrong. His memories of his fight with Frisk in the Judgement Hall are fuzzy at best, just like every other RESET, but he’s fairly sure that it was the same feeling that left him capable and willing to give the kid a second chance. Granted, they had to  _ earn  _ that second chance, but it wasn’t coming along too poorly; even if he did go out of his way a lot of the time to avoid their presence unless strictly necessary.

As much as he would’ve rather retreated to his bedroom until Papyrus returned back from Waterfall, it was better to stay out and keep tabs on the situation. Frisk had only come out once, for a cinnabunny, before heading back into their room and while that usually wouldn’t bother him, something felt off about it all. So, it’s with a sigh that he gets up off the couch, making a mental note of the page he’d been staring at for the last ten minutes, and heads over to their door and pulls it open after knocking twice to alert them of his presence.

Or at least, he would’ve if it wasn’t locked.

He breathes out steadily, despite the fact that he doesn’t require air to live, and runs a hand across the back of his neck. “well, this ain’t lookin’ very good.”

He knocks again. “you there, kid?” He waits a several seconds, in the off chance they’re in the bathroom or simply doing something on their own and locked the door for privacy, but when no response comes through Sans sighs again and teleports straight into the room. He knows full well that Chara will notice his appearance but considering they’d directly disobeyed one of the few rules he and Papyrus had given them leaves him unable to care too much—he’d teleport right back out, in the case Frisk was just asleep, and leave them be until they woke up. Mistakes happen, after all.

Except, the room is empty

Sans swears and heads right out, unlocking their door and leaving it wide open as he goes. He’s already pulling out his phone, his smile strained in annoyance, and when he rings Papyrus it only takes a few seconds for him to answer. “SANS?”

“yo.” His tone is no different from usual, a lazy drawl that reveals none of his mounting frustration and, perhaps, worry. “you on speaker?”

He hears Papyrus fumbling with the phone and Undyne yelling something in the background before Papyrus answers, “NOT ANYMORE. IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?”

Sans sighs  _ again _ , already bracing himself for the inevitable lecture his brother is about to lay on him, and admits, “the kid’s gone.”

“WHAT!?” He cringes. “SANS, HOW COULD YOU—THEY’RE—IT’S  _ STORMING! _ ”

“eh … yeah. uh, that’s … kinda why i called you.” Sans is the one who turns on speakerphone this time, allowing him to remove his slippers and replace them with his usual sneakers. “they were worried ‘bout you bein’ … out,” he purposely omits the part about Undyne, “ _snow_ they wanted to go look, but i told ‘em no—kid accepted it, too. or at least, seemed to. so, uh … i was wonderin’ if you might’ve seen ‘em?”

In the background, Sans can hear Undyne yell,  _ “What’s going on? Something wrong in Snowdin?”  _ and Papyrus attempting to convince her it’s nothing. It takes a good thirty seconds before he gets an actual reply.

“I HAVE NOT. … BUT THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS TO GET LOST IN WATERFALL; THEY COULD BE ANYWHERE!” There’s a touch of panic in his voice and Sans is positive he’s stress pacing. “AND THEY ARE SO SMALL, WHAT IF THEY’RE ATTACKED?”

Sans grimaces. With how low Frisk’s HP is and the state of their SOUL, he doesn’t even want to imagine just how damaging a fight would be. SOULS weren’t supposed to be able to do what Frisk’s had, and it didn't seem to be getting any better as time went on. He'd scoured several of his personal books in search of something,  _anything_ that could clue him in on what was happening, but had come up blank. The only other place left was the Lab. “yeah. anyways, i’m gonna check the part’ve waterfall that connects to snowdin. mind lookin’ where you are?”

“NOT AT ALL, I WILL SEARCH—AH … I MEAN,  _ LOOK _ IMMEDIATELY!”

“thanks. lemme know the results.” Sans hangs up then, dragging a hand down his face. There’s absolutely no chance that Undyne missed Papyrus’ slip of the tongue, which means he has to find Frisk  _ fast.  _ He doesn’t want to think about the disaster that would follow if Undyne finds them first.

“god dammit,” he mutters, unsure whether he’s angry, worried, or a mix of both, “what a fuckin’ mess.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving the house empty.

* * *

“UNDYNE, YOU MUSTN’T—”

The woman places her hands on her hips, looking utterly unconvinced. “To HELL with that! If someone’s lost, you’ll cover a lot more ground, and I know Waterfall a lot better than you do!”

He fiddles with his fingers and if he had lips, he would definitely be chewing on them; his concern over Frisk missing had left Papyrus completely oblivious to the fact that Undyne was still in the room, a mistake he was paying now paying for. Not that he particularly  _ understood  _ Frisk’s fear of Undyne—they have never met, as far as he knows and, on top of that, their fear borders more into phobia territory.

“THEY’RE … EXTREMELY SHY,” he says. It’s not a lie, just … not the whole truth. “IF THEY ARE LOST AND SCARED, MEETING SOMEONE NEW MAY SCARE THEM MORE.”

“Uh-huh, and what if they’re hurt?” Undyne asks. “We  _ both _ know you’re not all that proficient with white magic, and if this guy’s badly injured there’s nothing you’re going to be able to do.”

Papyrus knows her words are the truth, as much as he hates to admit it. While he has always prided himself for his excellent magic control, white magic was simply not easy for skeletons to learn. Sans was the exception, to an extent; but that in and of itself had its drawbacks on the rest of his magic. “BUT … “

“BUT NOTHING!” She shouts, already in the process of changing her shoes. “There’s no WAY I’m gonna just sit back when someone’s lost in here; what kind of guard would I be if I just sat on my ass the whole time!?”

“ … WELL, IT APPEARS I CANNOT STOP YOU,” he all but grumbles. Undyne grins, and Papyrus reluctantly tells her, “THEY ARE A CHILD, MAYBE TEN, WITH BROWN FUR—HAIR,” he corrects himself. “ABOUT THIS TALL,” he uses his hand to mark where the top of their head would be, “AND VERY SMALL. IT’S LIKELY THEY HAVE THEIR BACKPACK WITH THEM, BUT I CANNOT BE SURE.”

Undyne nods. “Right; small, scrawny, and brown. Got it.” She cracks her knuckles and pulls on the jacket thrown over the kitchen chair. “Well? What are you waiting for—let’s GO! We got a kid to find, and fast.”  Papyrus looks around the room nervously before following after the woman, his gait far slower than Undyne's. He can only hope that Sans finds Frisk before they do.

“Well Howdy!” He skids to a stop, blinking down at the yellow flower blocking the way. “Gosh, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it Papyrus?”

“FLOWEY.” In any other circumstance, Papyrus would been happy to see his friend; but time is of the essence, and he can’t afford to waste any time talking. “IT'S GREAT TO SEE YOU, BUT I’M SORRY … I DON’T HAVE TIME TO HANG OUT RIGHT NOW; I HAVE URGENT BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO. BUT MAYBE WE CAN PLAY LATER?”

Flowey giggles. “Hehe … you’re so funny, Papyrus.” He swerves back and forth in excitement and Papyrus notices that Undyne is backtracking in his direction. “I know exactly what you’re doing~”

He frowns. Flowey elaborates, “Aww … are you surprised?” He gives the skeleton no time to answer that question. “Frisk told me to come find you.”

Papyrus gasps. “YOU FOUND THEM?”

“Uh-huh! They’re in a real bad predicament, though,” Flowey says, looking thoughtful for a brief second second. “In fact, they might just die out there! After all, there’s no way  _ they  _ could get out by themselves.”

Papyrus immediately asks, “WHERE ARE THEY?”

“Why … they’re in the forest, of course! Ran all the way in, even with that horrible storm; who  _ knows  _ what state they’re in now.” He giggles, the sound sending a shiver down his spine, and follows it up with a wink. “Better hurry! Oh—” He turns to look at Undyne, plastering on a look of surprise at her presence. “Well, you weren’t supposed to hear _that_ … I didn’t send for you, though; just Papyrus!” He turns back to the skeleton and offers one last, almost grim sounding, “Better hurry,” before disappearing back into the ground. Papyrus is too stunned to move for a few seconds before he turns on his heel and takes off in the opposite direction they’d been going.

“ _HEY!_ ” Undyne shouts, running after him. With the additional information that they’d gone out in the  _ storm,  _ which was bad enough that even the residents of Snowdin wouldn’t dare come out, the situation was far more urgent; this was no longer a search through Waterfall for a kid who thought it'd be fun to wander off; it could very well be a search for a body if they took too long. “Take it easy, Papyrus! We’ll find the kid—but if you go in there panicking, you’re going to end up overlooking something!”

He sighs nervously, taking the necessary turns through Waterfall that lead to the shortcut everyone used. “UNDYNE … YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. SANS HAS INFORMED ME THEY ARE ILL—AND EXPLAINED THAT ILLNESS TO ME. THERE IS NO TIME TO WASTE HERE.”

“Informed you—is the kid  _ staying  _ with you?” Papyrus flinches. “Why didn’t you TELL me? Anyone in your company is someone I’d want to meet! And how did you get a kid, anyways!?”

“IT’S … UH. AS I SAID, THEY ARE VERY SHY.” The situation couldn’t get any worse. Whether Undyne found Frisk, or he or Sans did, she was now fully aware of their existence and that they were staying in his house and wondering how they got there. “VERY … VERY SHY. AND, WELL … UNDYNE, YOU ARE VERY LOUD. WE HAVE JUST BEEN ATTEMPTING TO GET THEM ADJUSTED TO LIVING IN SNOWDIN—”

“Not a local, then?” They reach the spot where the yellow bird rests and it watches them eagerly, in hopes of being able to bring them to the other side, but Undyne and Papyrus cross the gap easily with a single jump. “Well—whatever. We’ll talk about this later; we gotta find that kid before they freeze to death.”

It’s a way out of the conversation, but Papyrus doesn’t feel any more relief than he did during it. Briefly, it occurs to him to call Sans—but, in his hurry, he’d left it on the table back at Undyne’s house after ending their call. He could only hope they’d cross paths and exchange information.

But as they begin to close in on Snowdin, there’s still been no sighting of the skeleton. The wind is beginning to kick up, with snow and sleet pelting down on them and, while Papyrus can’t feel it much at all he worries for Undyne; though, then again, she was aquatic. “ARE YOU SURE YOU ARE UP FOR THIS?” He asks, passing the foggy river. “YOU ARE ILL DRESSED FOR THIS COLD, AND IT WILL ONLY GET WORSE THE FURTHER WE GO.”

“This is nothing.” They both slow to a cautious walk, searching for any footprints that may show where the child had wandered off too, but it’s simply been too long; whatever may have been there had long since been covered by a new layer of snow and wind. “So how we gonna take this? Kid’s not going to last much longer out here, especially if they’re hurt.”

Papyrus mulls over his options. He highly doubted they’d gotten all that far in, so sending Undyne to the further parts of the forest would be the best option. “YOU … MAY SEARCH THE RUINS AND ICE REGIONS,” he finally answers, “MEANWHILE I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL STAY CLOSER TO SNOWDIN IN CASE THEY COME BACK; YOU’LL DEFINITELY BE BETTER OFF SEARCHING THERE! IT COVERS MUCH MORE GROUND.”

Undyne squints at him in an almost suspicious fashion. “You _really_  think this kid’s gone that far?”

Papyrus scrambles for an excuse, his smile slightly worried now. “THEY, UH, WALK VERY FAST! ALMOST A SPRINT!”

“ … While hurt.” She winces when a particularly cold gust hits them, but other than that is relatively unaffected by the disastrous weather. “If they’re really as shy as you say they are, it’s better if I  _ don’t  _ cover as much ground!”

“AH … HEHE … WELL, IT’S JUST THAT—YOU SEE …”

Undyne crosses her arms and fits him with a suspicious look. “You’re being suspicious.”

“ME? SUSPICIOUS? I’M THE OPPOSITE OF SUSPICIOUS—THERE’S NOTHING SUSPICIOUS ABOUT THIS AT ALL!  OR ABOUT ME, OF COURSE. IT JUST … UH, APPEALS TO OUR STRENGTHS IF WE DO IT THIS WAY. IT’S DEFINITELY NOT FOR ANY OTHER REASON!”

Undyne punches him in the shoulder. “You’re TOTALLY being suspicious! There’s no damn way a sick kid made it very far into this forest, ESPECIALLY with this weather! So spill it.”

“… OH, VERY WELL,” he acquiesces with a sigh. “YOU SEE, WELL. HOW DO I SAY THIS.” Papyrus wonders if he can get away with a lie if he only twists the truth a little bit. “THEY ARE … VERY AFRAID OF LOUD SOUNDS, AND. WELL, UNDYNE, YOU ARE VERY LOUD. THEIR SHYNESS AND FEAR OF LOUD NOISES MAKES FOR A VERY BAD COMBINATION, YOU SEE.”

“PSHH. You’re TOTALLY louder than I am,” she argues.

“YES, BUT THEY HAVE HAD TIME TO ADJUST TO ME! YOU ARE A STRANGER WITH A LOUD VOICE, AND IF THEY GET SCARED THEY MAY … HURT YOU.” Papyrus isn’t sure why that excuse in particular came to mind; Frisk has been a completely docile the entire time he’s known them—and yet, when he sees them pick up a knife, an unusual jolt of nervousness hits him. He almost swears he can see their eyes glinting red and the knife tinted with poorly cleaned off dust, but the sight is always gone once he's blinked.

Undyne sighs. “You know what, this isn’t worth the effort; whatever your real reason is, it’s just going to have to wait—we have a kid to find."

Papyrus wants to sigh in relief. The battle isn’t over, but at least it’s been pushed back for now.

* * *

“Hey, Chara,” Frisk starts, “can you take my backpack off?”

 _Like … this? Or—_ Frisk shakes their head, _I guess I can try, but it’s probably gonna hurt a lot. You okay with that?_ Frisk nods and Chara reluctantly moves forward.

Sure enough, the act of taking over Frisk’s body and painstakingly attempting to remove their backpack sends rivets of pain up their arm. The best they can do, without having to cut the strap off entirely, is get it off one arm and sling it over to the other, broken one. “That’s all I can do,” they say, through gritted teeth. They refuse to cry—not when the injury itself was their fault. “What did you want from it?”

_ The cinnabunny,  _ Frisk replies.  _ It’s not much, but … it might hurt less that way. _

“Food’s not gonna do anything really to fix your arm,” Chara tells them but despite their words they’re already in the process of reaching over with their other hand and trying to fish the contents out from the backpack. Their hand closes around the package containing the cinnabunny and they feel the hilt of the knife brush up against their their hand. Their grip on the package tightens and, after a long moment of thought, they stretch their fingers out to grab the knife as well. It’s an awkward and uncomfortable motion, but one that pays out in the end.

_ … Why did you take the knife out?  _ Chara lets it rest at their good side and intends to slip out of the body, only to be stopped. _It's_ _  for you, not me—I don’t need it. _

Chara scoffs. “You don’t  _ need  _ it? C’mon, Frisk, your arm is  _ broken  _ and we’ve been in this stupid cave for who knows how long; just  _ eat it.” _

_ I don’t want it.  _ It sounds almost like a whine, if Frisk were capable of doing such a thing, and Chara lets their head thump back against the wall.

“Well I don’t want it either,” they grumble. “How about—okay. If I eat some, then will you eat the rest? We can share it.”

Frisk is silent as they contemplate the offer and, after an annoyingly long silence, finally they reluctantly agree. Chara rips off a portion of the bun, stuffing it in their mouth and chewing it so quickly they barely taste it. They repeat the action several times before saying, “Your turn,” and shoving Frisk forward.

They lurch forward with the abrupt switch, nearly causing the cinnabunny to topple off their thigh and onto the floor.  Frisk looks at it uneasily, feeling their stomach churn at the thought of having to eat any of the sweet. They wish they’d brought water or something instead; their throat burns and their mouth is in a way that not even their saliva can fix. “What …” the words freeze in their throat as fear comes to light, “Chara … what if Flowey lied?”

_ About getting Papyrus?  _ They nod.  _ Well … then we’d just have to wait until Papyrus got back. Or when Sans decides we’ve been in our room too much.  _ Chara pauses for a moment before breaking the silence with,  _ At this point, I don’t care if it’s him that finds us; I … I just want to get out of here. _

“ … Me too,” Frisk whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Despite Chara’s protests, they only take a small bite from the cinnabunny before placing it back on the package it’d been in and setting it to the side. They eye the knife anxiously, feeling their skin itch and crawl—it would be easy to hurt themselves. With a broken arm, any blood on their clothes could be dismissed as from their fall.

_ Don’t,  _ Chara orders, placing their hand down on the knife as if it would make any difference.  _ What if someone finds us while you’re doing it? We’d—we’d be in so much trouble. You know they would take the knife, right? _

“They’ll call out,” Frisk protests, already wiggling in an attempt to get in a more comfortable position. “Just—a little. I won’t do a lot … I promise, I won’t. Just a little.”

Chara attempts to take over. But Frisk has learned; their hold is stronger than Chara’s most of the time. They want to look away—they want to pretend that Frisk isn’t yanking their pants down to their knee and positioning the blade on top of the smooth skin, an area they haven't yet taken the blade to throughout any of their runs. They want to scream, shout, lash out—

More than anything, they just want Frisk to  _ stop. _

Frisk whimpers with the first cut, trembles with the second, their grip tightens on the third, and it’s then that Chara realizes just how much more painful the area is and just how much more blood come out of a single cut, deep or not.  _ Please—please, stop,  _ they beg frantically, attempting to yank Frisk’s hand away from their leg; because while they can’t interact with objects, they can interact with Frisk, if only to an extent.  _ Stop, stop—I-I don’t want to see it! Please, Frisk—please stop, please … _

Frisk blinks rapidly, staring down at the bloody skin and then at the knife. “ … I’m sorry,” they repeat. “I’m done, now.”

Getting the fabric back over the wounds is even more painful and as much as they hate to admit it, Frisk cries out when the rough fabric of their pants scratches up against the cuts.

And then—

“HEY! Someone out here!?”

Chara freezes and Frisk feels their entire body tense. They remember that voice; the voice of the Devil. The Devil, who’d trapped them in Hell and killed them—over, and over, and over, and—

Frisk yanks their hat further down their head and reaches down to grip their knife tightly, their breathing quickening. It’s as if their heart is going to beat out their chest; there’s no chance of suppressing this.

They are going to die.

_ Flowey—we—I-I told him no. I told him not to. That—that st— _ Chara breaks off into a panicked gasp, barely able to speak through their fear. Although they have no lungs, the panic is just as real for them as it is for Frisk; possibly more, considering their connection.

Their grip on the knife tightens. Their breathing is so haggard that it seems to echo through the dimly lit cave; Frisk wonders, briefly, if they could avoid being seen if they moved to one of the darker corners—but the sheer amount of pain that hits them when they try is enough to shove a sob from their mouth. Their leg burns so badly, especially with their pants rubbing up against the still open and  bleeding wounds, and their arm is a whole other beast.

They don’t want to die again—their eyes hurt, they hurt so  _ bad and they couldn’t protect them, couldn’t protect their eyes their dead eyes the eyes of a murderer, murderer a monster— _

The Devil steps into the cave. It takes a few seconds for her to adjust to the darkness, and her eyes widen. Frisk presses themselves even further up against the wall, their shoulders shaking so hard that they can barely hold onto the knife. They aren’t crying, they  _ couldn’t cry _ and yet—

“Hey, squirt—take it easy,” she says, her voice so much softer and kind than it was in Hell, almost like she were a different person entirely, “you’re okay, everything’s alright.”

“N-No … no, no. No,” they frantically whisper, pulling themselves as close and tight as they can. “No, please—g-go away, go away.”

The Devil strains to hear, her brow furrowing in confusion, and she takes a few steps forward, making sure to keep her stance as non-threatening as possible. “It’s okay—you must be real scared, falling down that cliff, huh?” It does little but leave Frisk gripping their knife tighter. “I fell down too—wasn't expecting the snow to cave in like that." She offers them a laugh and a smile, as if her words were supposed to ease their fear, but it does nothing even remotely similar. "But I’m gonna get you right back to Snowdin. Papyrus is looking for you too; you really scared him when you went out in this weather, kid.”

“L-Leave.  _ Leave. _ ” They don’t want to strike, don’t want to kill—don’t want to set Her back on them again. “Leave!” Frisk screams, their voice cracking in fear and the sudden increase in volume; Her words haven't even registered, with their entire body and brain screaming _danger_. “G-Go—go, go. Please.”

_ I—I don’t want to die,  _ Chara bleats, but despite it place themselves in front of Frisk.  _ We have to—h-have to RESET. We have to. _

Frisk considers it; Sans is already aware they snuck out, after all. Their broken arm would be fixed, and She would know nothing about their existence. And yet—

“I can’t,” they hiccup. “I-I can’t  _ feel it.  _ It’s not—not—not there. I can’t.”

The Devil takes another step forward and it’s enough to set them off; Frisk whips the knife up in her direction, fully aware of their own blood staining the metal. “Whoa—take it easy. I told you, Papyrus sent me; I’m not going to hurt you—”

“I said  _ leave!”  _ They scream again, the hand holding the knife shaking so badly that it won’t even stay straight.  _ “G-Get away, get away from me!” _

She stops where she’s standing, glancing over her shoulder almost nervously. “Okay, okay, relax; I’m staying here … not moving. I won’t come closer.”

Their pupils are so dilated that it nearly takes over the entirety of their eyes, the fear so potent and wild that Frisk is tempted to take the knife to themselves. If they could LOAD their SAVE, this would be over—but it wasn’t working. It wouldn’t  _ let them  _ LOAD without dying, and wouldn’t let them RESET for whatever reason.

They were going to die, whether it was by their own hand or Hers.  At least, this time, there was no SAVE point nearby to leave them in the hands of the Devil herself.

“Listen. Papyrus told me you’re shy and all, so … well, I’ll just sit down right here until he catches up. In fact—I’ll call him now. Will that help?”

Frisk says nothing. Chara tries to reach for their SAVE, but finds it just as distant and blocked off as Frisk does, and the Devil simply reaches into her pocket and removes her phone, dialing up a number.

And she waits, and waits.

Papyrus doesn’t answer.

“ … That’s weird,” She mutters, “Papyrus never fails to pick up his phone.” She looks over at the two of them—even if only one is visible—, taking in the sling and panic written across their face, and lets out a sigh of resignation. “Looks like I'll get you out myself.”

She takes a step forward and Frisk forces themselves to their feet, no longer aware of the pain; all they can focus on is running, the blood rushing through their veins. They have to get  _ away.  _ Chara follows desperately, neither caring that the backpack dangles painfully off their arm, and The Devil moves to grab them. “Hey! You’re gonna hurt yourself more—stop MOVING!”

They don’t listen. They’re stumbling and struggling, their mittens ripped and skin scraped beyond belief at this point—their arm has likely snapped right out of place once more, with the brutal and frantic motions, and their knife is gripped so tightly their knuckles are white. Finally the Devil growls in frustration and snaps, “If you’re not gonna stop, then I’LL STOP YOU MYSELF!”

Frisk rolls onto their back and feels their SOUL coming out—a scream bubbles to life and they swear they see the spears above head. Their entire body is stiffening, with green magic beginning to seep into their SOUL to stop them from moving anymore; they were going to die. She was going to kill them—they're _going to die again at the hand of the Devil_.  The Devil yanks it out fully and Chara’s scream drowns out a muted gasp—they lunge for the knife and Frisk feels something deep inside of them snap as Chara’s fingers wrap around the handle, and then—

Frisk promptly vomits, a mixture of the cinnabunny and their blood, and their vision blurs so badly that all they can see is a blend of dark colours. “What the hell?” They hear Her whisper, the attempt to freeze them with green magic coming to an abrupt stop. It barely registers through the pain assaulting them down to their very core; there isn’t a single part of them that doesn’t hurt and their chest feels like it will cave in on itself at any point. “D-Did your SOUL just—?”

“Get  _ away from us!”  _ Chara lurches forward, swinging the knife in a wide arc as Frisk writhes on the floor, their broken arm not even registering at this point. Chara pants heavily, gripping their knife tightly, and it’s only then that they turn—

And see the sight of Frisk’s SOUL, ripped and shredded down the middle, disappear back into their chest. “F-Frisk?” They say weakly, glancing down at their body; their  _ solid  _ body. They look at the knife in their hand, the one they’d ripped out of Frisk’s hand—

“Frisk!” They shriek, dropping to their knees beside the near motionless child. Frisk blinks slowly, unable to shake the taste of copper in their mouth and the haziness of their vision. “Frisk, F-Frisk—what’s—” They turn back to the Devil, their red eyes burning in the darkness of the cave. “What did you  _ do."  _ They’re so  _ scared—  _ but Frisk’s SOUL is in pieces, they have a body, and Frisk isn’t moving. This is no time for them to succumb to their fear. “A-Answer me!  _ Now!” _

She looks just as shocked as they do, if not a bit disturbed. “Where the hell did you …? No. No, that’s the least of the problem.” Chara snarls when She approaches, their chest heaving from exertion. “Listen—I know you’re scared, for whatever reason, but we’ve gotta get your … friend …”

It’s only then that She gets a good look at Chara; lacking in a fuzzy hat and mittens, there’s no deceiving Her like Frisk had, and immediately She’s on guard. “You’re a  _ human.” _

“C-Congrats for figuring—f-figuring out the obvious, dipshit,” they spit, uncaring that their language is more vulgar than usual. If anyone deserved it, it was Her. Still, it’s not nearly as effective with their voice trembling like it is, but their hatred is so potent that it’s impossible to miss. “Now  _ leave.” _

The Devil scoffs. “If you think I’m going to leave a human wandering around, you’ve got it all wrong. Your SOUL—it’s the last one we need.” The spears are there, now, and it takes all of Chara’s willpower to not cower. “I can’t believe Papyrus was hiding  _ you  _ for this long; explains why he was so nervous, though.”

They have to get Frisk out of this cave and figure out what happened; how they’d gained a body, why Frisk’s SOUL had ripped in half—

They have a sickening feeling that the two are directly related.

“Well—w-well, if you—if you haven’t noticed, we don’t  _ have  _ one. Not a whole one.”  _ Not anymore.  _ “So you can just—just fuck  _ off  _ a-and get Papyrus. Get him here and leave.”

The reminder of Frisk’s SOUL is abruptly pulled out, pulling a guttural and agonized wail from the child. Chara turns, tears brimming at their eyes at the display. “Stop it!” They scream. “Stop— _ stop!  _ You’re h-hurting them, you’re gonna—you’re gonna kill them.  _ Stop!” _

It sinks back in and the screams stop, replaced by ragged and pained cries. Chara can feel their own chest tugging painfully, as if something was trying to burst out, and whirl around with the knife when they hear Her move.

“Listen here, human,” the Devil starts. Chara isn’t sure how or when she got so close, and if they weren’t so terrified for Frisk they would’ve cowered; but their friend is helpless, and Chara is their last line of defence. At least the spears are gone. “We need another SOUL to break the barrier and escape this place. But, well …” Her gaze shifts momentarily, “it doesn’t really sit right with me to leave a kid in this bad of a state—human or not.” It shifts over to Frisk, her expression twisting in distress at the memory of what she’d seen. “I’ll give you a temporary truce, just because I’m not in the business of beating on wimps who can’t defend themselves.” Chara scoffs at that. “But it’s ONLY temporary. GOT IT?”

They could stab Her right now. They could reach back and swing—hope that it would be enough. But deep down, Chara knows that it would only get them killed, and they’re fairly sure that whatever Frisk’s SOUL had done wouldn’t be fixed by a simple LOAD. “Good. L-Like I’d ever want any—a-anything to do with you.” They hate that the stutter won’t leave; they hate that, even with all their anger put out on display, the memories that had been left from Hell are so strong. “Now—get Papyrus.”

“And leave you two here? No chance.” She scoffs. “We might have a truce, but that doesn’t mean I can trust you; I’ve read all about what you humans are capable of.”

Chara tries to gather Frisk up in their arms but it’s an empty effort. Although Chara has a good six inches on Frisk, they haven’t had a body—a  _ real  _ body in over a hundred years; their muscles are weak and atrophied from disuse and, on top of that, they’ve yet to release the knife. The Devil kneels at their side and catches the blade Chara swings in a webbed hand, not even flinching when it digs into Her skin, and they’re so shocked by the fact that it hadn’t dusted her in an instant that it’s easily pulled from their hand and tossed aside. “You think a scrawny little punk like you is gonna be able to lift them? HAH! Get real.” Chara clutches Frisk closer and fixes Her with a look that could kill. “You’re shaking in your boots, kid, and while I have no fuc— _ fricken  _ idea where you came from, sitting around here isn't gonna get you squat.”

Chara hates that She’s right; hates how, even with a body, they’re no less helpless than they’d been as a ghost. The Devil wears a disguise, and yet the Devil couldn’t kill them; not with their SOUL as it was.

It didn’t make letting Her lift Frisk’s limp body up off the ground any easier. Chara goes to stand, only to yelp in surprise when they’re hefted up and thrown over Her back like a sack of potatoes. “What are you  _ doing?  _ Put me down!”

“Quit your yapping,” She orders, and instinctively they're on guard. There’s something commanding in that tone; something that  _ demands  _ and  _ receives  _ respect. “There’s NO. WAY. You’re going to be able to climb out of this here, and I promised Papyrus I’d bring you back.” She pauses, looking down at the bloody and pale child in her arms—their skin is so pale it’s practically translucent, a distant and far away haze plastered across their brown, unseeing eyes. “He didn’t say there were two of you, though.”

Against all their instincts, Chara rears their leg back and kicks  _ hard.  _ A curse escapes the Devil’s mouth, unfiltered from its abruptness, and Chara is tempted to do it again, only stopped when they’re nearly thrown off by a sudden movement. “Don’t let go—I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to catch you if you fall.”

Frisk blinks slowly, breathing through a throatful of blood and spit that bubbles out, down their chin and across their neckline as they bleat out, in a terrifyingly small voice, “C—Cha—C … Chara? It—h-hurts, where are you?” They wheeze again and the Devil picks up Her pace, jumping the hill that had blocked them in with ease and avoiding the pile of snow that had clearly been Her own way down. Chara has to hold onto Her jacket to keep steady. “I c-c-can-can’t—” Chara can feel their SOUL, the part that had been ripped off of Frisk’s and given to them. stuttering dangerously. “Did—d-did you le—leave? I’m s-sorry, I’m—”

A gurgle leaves them sputtering and struggling, even when She adjusts her hold so they’re at least partially upright, and a surge of terror runs through Chara. The weather is brutal, especially now that there’s no buffer, but at least the Devil is covering a lot more ground at a much quicker pace then they ever could. “I-I’m here,” they reassure, wishing more than anything else that they could do more than offer words, “I d-didn’t leave, I promised—r-remember?”

Frisk doesn’t answer. “PAPYRUS!” She bellows, as they pass the dog house and approach the bridge to Snowdin, and although they can’t see the skeleton anywhere nearby Chara’s sure that Her yell echoes for miles.

It’s Sans who meets them at the entrance, surprisingly enough, and Chara’s too cold and worried to muster up any rage for him. His eyes linger on them for a moment too long before averting to the body in Her arms, a startled breath escaping. “the fuck  _ happened.” _

Chara slides off Her shoulder and immediately goes for Frisk, only for the woman to fix them with a glare; had it been anyone else, they wouldn’t have been phased and continued anyways, but this—this wasn’t anyone.

This was the Devil.

“I don’t honestly know.” She transfers Frisk’s body over to Sans, prompting them to stir just slightly from the pain induced fog they had fallen into. Something inside them feels cracked,  _ shattered,  _ torn apart; there’s an emptiness and all around feeling of  _ wrongness _ , a torrent of pain that has all but shut them down. “But it wasn’t  _ right.  _ That—their SOUL. It’s—”

Sans grimaces, quickly leading the two towards the house. Chara’s torn between racing at his side, just so Frisk won’t be alone, and staying back so they can see Her. In the end, their loyalty wins out. “undyne. what happened.”

Undyne—it felt strange and uncomfortable to associate this woman with anything except what they’d named and considered her to be—snaps out an answer, “Something  _ wrong.  _ Their SOUL, it … it—” for a second, it appears she may be ill, “their SOUL ripped in half. And this one popped out.” She growls in frustration, running a hand through flaming red hair in an agitated fashion. “SOULS don’t DO THAT. It goes against—”

“the very nature of a SOUL,” he finishes for her, somehow opening the front door despite the body in his hands. “undyne, go find papyrus.”

“And leave you with two HUMANS!? If they can get a single hit on you—”

“yeah. if.” There is no humor in his voice, just like in the Execution Hall. Chara wishes they had something,  _ anything, _ to say but, in the presence of the two monsters they hated the most, they find themselves with nothing. All they can do is trail after Sans as they enter into their room. “now, go and get papyrus. trust me, i can handle ‘em without an issue.”

Undyne looks like she wants to protest, but reluctantly does as Sans says. Chara relaxes slightly once she’s gone and when Sans lays Frisk down, propping their head up to prevent them from choking, they climb up right next to them and grip their hand tight. “It’s okay,” they whisper, even though Frisk can’t hear the words, “I-I’m here, and—and I never left. Not once.”

Sans heads off into their bathroom to wet the towel in there, wringing out the excess water before returning. It feels as if he's witnessing something he had no right to be, but something had to be done.

“right. so, 'm gonna hazard a guess you’re chara?” He begins, continuing without giving them a chance to answer, “imma need your help here, so swallow that hatred’ve yours for now and help me out.” They glare and Sans teleports out, only to return a few seconds later with a bucket of water. “prop ‘em up more—like that, good. hold ‘em.” Chara’s arms shake as they help keep Frisk’s body upright, and Sans quickly strips the torn sling and bag off the broken limb before examining it, his fingers prodding and moving the limb with a careful yet perfect precision. “needs’t be set again—we’ll do it after they're cleaned up. can’t heal it when it’s broken, after all.”

Chara finally gains their voice back, “What are you doing? Frisk is gonna  _ die  _ and you're talking about their stupid arm!?”

Sans glances at the angry child and begins the process of removing the excess and bloodied layers from Frisk’s body. If they were cognizant, he was almost positive they’d have screamed or cried at least once, but the fact that they weren’t worked in his favor. “they ain’t dyin’—not yet, probably not at all, even if it looks like they are,” he says, his voice so calm that it leaves rage boiling in their gut. “i’m guessin’ that other half of their SOUL’s in you?” Chara looks away. “i’m not exactly an expert on the makin’ and way that SOULS work, but if you’re up an’ moving like this, you’re what’s keepin’ 'em alive.”

"Then why did they get so sick?" Chara asks, their tone argumentative. "They threw up so much blood, and—and they're so pale; if they're not dying, then why do they look so  _bad?"_

He cleans the blood off their face and throat, the water in the bowl quickly becoming tinted red from the amount of blood being cleaned away, as he answers, "i said they _aren't_ dying _,_ not that they _weren't_ dying."

They growl. "There's no difference!"

"think of it this way," he starts, his motions completely calculated and methodical, "i'm gonna guess you popped outta' their SOUL when it broke; that is, you split their SOUL in half." Chara squeezes their eyes shut, a wave of guilt hitting them. "normally, that'd dust a monster—kill a human, whatever. in that instance, they were dying; but instead of dyin' like they should've, that half went into  _you._ " White meets red and Chara hopes he can see just how much they loathe him. "technically, the whole SOUL still exists, just … mm. not in one person."

Chara looks down at their hands. Their knife is still in the cave; their only form of defense is gone, leaving them completely weak and helpless—and they  _hate it._ They hate being so helpless, when they'd fought so hard to be anything but; they hated that their helplessness had caused Frisk to suffer so badly.

Sans finally finishes with removing their extra layers and clearing away the blood as much as possible and pauses at the sight of their broken arm. The white and purple scars are impossible to miss, even with the misshapen and bruised limb itself, but he files that information away for later. There's no point in thinking about that right now, especially with Frisk unconscious and Chara in some state of trauma. "i'm gonna set it first. don't try'n stop me, or i could screw it up."

Chara's not sure it works that way, but they obey regardless. With Frisk unconscious the process of setting the bone back into place goes smoothly and Sans' palm is suddenly glowing with white magic. Chara is reminded of Toriel; how she'd displayed a similar, if not the exact same, magic on their injuries. "That's healing magic," they say suddenly. 

Sans hums. "'s actually called white magic, but you're not wrong." 

They can't help but notice that the process of mending the bone back together takes an abnormally long amount of time; Chara remembers breaking their collarbone, once, and Toriel had healed it in a fraction of the time Sans was taking. "You're not good at it," they accuse. "Are you gonna mess it up?"

He snorts. "white magic doesn't exactly come easy to us skeletons. now be  _quiet._ " Chara crosses their arms petulantly, but obeys nonetheless. It feels like an eternity before he finishes, skeletal fingers skimming across the now clear skin—with the exception of their scars, of course—and checking that the bone had, in fact, been fully and properly healed and when he feels nothing abnormal he pulls away completely, letting the limb rest beside them on the bed. "it'll be sore, but that's the best i can do."

They consider, for a moment, telling him about Frisk's legs. The blood had to have clung to the cuts by this point, making it impossible to heal safely—but the thought of letting Sans know something so intimate and sensitive makes them feel sick. Still, with Frisk unconscious, they couldn't exactly expect for them to be able to take care of the wounds, and Chara was in no state to do so themselves. Just the thought makes them want to throw up.

"hm." He breaks their train of thought, as if he could peer straight into their mind. "where else are they hurt."

Chara grits their teeth and feels their shoulders tense, memories of the past hitting them suddenly. They couldn't let him see those injuries—he would have to remove Frisk's pants, and that was—

That wasn't  _safe_.

But the wounds had to be tended to. 

But—

_But._

They gasp and have to remind themselves that they need to breathe now. It feels surreal to no longer be a ghost, stuck trailing after Frisk else they risk hurting them further, and the feeling of their skin beneath their nails and their  _own_ body, rather than Frisk's, is almost overwhelming. Their legs and gait still feel awkward, but at least they're capable of doing so. Their hair is longer and fingers different, similar yet so different than Frisk's.

With their body being their own, though, they can remember even more vividly their days at the orphanage; there is no Frisk to distract them from it all. The older kids and their bullying, their tormenting, how they'd trapped them in a corner or behind the building and—

Chara  _screams,_ an angry and desperate noise that startles the skeleton across from them. They want to kick and punch, they want to lash out and  _hurt;_ if they attacked first, if they fought back and had leverage, none of the older kids could hurt them. They couldn't be vulnerable. They were safe, as long as they could intimidate. As long as they were  _strong._

But Chara has no knife. Their body is weak and underdeveloped from over a century of disuse—something they're still curious about; is their corpse still buried, or has it disappeared?—and they lack enough strength to hurt anyone if the knife incident with Undyne is anything to go off of. Tears burn at the back of their eyes, a wetness that they can't stop, and before long they've fisted their hands into their hair and yanked at the strands desperately. It's  _something_  to direct their anger towards, even if it is at themselves rather than someone or something else, and after a few ragged breaths they release their hair and grit their teeth. Sans watches the display silently, unsure and unwilling to act in the case he made the wrong choice and set them off further, and finally they punch the bed and feel the soft sheets and mattress depress under the force. They refuse to let him see them any weaker than he already has.

"You're gonna hurt them." Their accusation is a statement—determined and absolutely  _sure_. "You'll hurt them if I tell you."

His brow furrows. "you do realize i'm healin' them? if you'd rather have undyne—"

 _"Don't say her name!"_ Their heart clenches with fear, panic fluttering through their eyes. "She can't—s-she—don't let her near us. Near  _Frisk._ " Their breaths are almost frantic and Chara clamps their hands over their mouth and tries to breathe. Sans mutters some numbers, something for them to align their breaths with, and as much as they hate it they feel their breathing begin to stabilize. "Never."

"'kay, okay. uh, that's fine; but if that's the case then you're gonna have'ta let me do this, chara." It's strange to hear their name. Other than Frisk and perhaps Flowey, though in his case it was arguably incorrect, Sans is the only person to address them by name in over a hundred years. Their name sounds almost foreign to their ears. Chara,  _Chara._ It was their name and yet it sounded so odd. "so _chill_ out, tell me where they're hurt, and we'll get this over with."

They know he's right. As much as Chara hates Sans, they fear Undyne—she could become the Devil in the span of a second. She had  _been_ the Devil up until a few minutes ago.

They are not in the orphanage; they hate Sans, but he is not the same as their tormentors they'd fought so hard to chase away. He is not the boys who trapped them and made them helpless—he is not their executioner, who drew out their deaths and watched them flail and suffer like a fish out of water.

Their body screams to flee. Their mind screams to stay; protect Frisk. To lash out and scream until Sans goes away, no matter the consequences. Intimation and violence had kept them safe in their first life; if they weren't weak, they couldn't be hurt. If they weren't scared, if they weren't  _helpless,_ they would be safe. The older kids wouldn't go after the one with a knife, or the kid who kicked and fought, biting and scratching until the others had been subdued or pissed off enough to leave them alone. 

Anger kept them safe. Anger kept people away, and then no one could hurt them. If they lashed out against the older kids, they wouldn’t corner them in the bedroom, or trap them after dark—or force them to do anything.

If Chara could hurt them, make them feel bad, then they would be safe.

"I don't want you to hurt them," they make a conscious effort to keep their tone even despite their tumultuous emotions. "I can't protect them, and—and Frisk can't protect themselves. We're helpless, and you'll hurt them. Helplessness will get you  _hurt."_ They spit out the words, fists clutching blankets to keep from denting their skin. "I won't  _let you hurt them."_

Sans observes them silently, his expression as unreadable as ever. Chara wishes they could dust him; at least, then, they'd be left alone. There would be no immediate danger—except, when Undyne and Papyrus returned to see the dust. It is not an option, as much as they wish it were.

Finally, after what feels like an eon of silence, Sans says, "how 'bout we make a deal." They look up at that, meeting his gaze once more, and he continues, "you tell me where they're hurt, i'll listen'ta why you think i'll hurt them, and if you're right, i'll let it go. deal?"

"That's a shitty deal," they say bitterly. "You're the one who gets to decide if I'm right or not. You could decide that I'm wrong even if I'm right, just 'cause you _can._ "

Sans shrugs. "is it a deal or not?"

Chara thinks back to the orphanage once more. They remember the dank and musty walls that seemed to permanently paint the halls with shadows no matter how many windows were open and how much sun poured in, they remember their bed, which had never really felt  _safe_ , even with a stolen knife kept beneath their pillow. None of the others bothered them after they'd gotten it, but there was never any security or safety in that place; everywhere was a battlefield. A place of conflict and a place of danger.

Chara hates Sans, but the home he and Papyrus have provides them feels nothing like the rotten place they'd been dumped in as a child.

"Fine, deal." The anger covers their nerves, the anxiety disguised as frustration. The words are hard to say, but they indulge him anyways. "Frisk's got cuts on their legs—their thighs," they pat their own, as if Sans doesn't know where the thigh is, "you'll—if you wanna heal them, you'll gotta take their pants off. The fabric's all stuck to the cuts, because they bled too much, and—"

They freeze suddenly, the anger pouring out until they've been left empty, a hollow shell of the roaring and overwhelming emotions moments before. "And if you take their pants off, you'll hurt them."

"… by pullin' the scabs off?" Sans asks, brow furrowed once more. "'s unavoidable—"

"That's not what I mean!" They snap, the anger returning like it'd never left, "You  _know_ what I mean; you know, so stop being an  _idiot_ and pretending you don't!"

Sans mules over their words, seeming genuinely confused, and they breathe through their nose, looking over at Frisk as they wait. While their friend hasn't regained consciousness, no longer are they coughing up blood; their skin tone seems to have evened out slightly, even if it is still far too pale compared to their usual tan. Chara considers it an improvement.

 **"… What exactly do you take me for?"** Their head snaps up at his tone and the look on his face is indescribable; yet, somehow, it manages to leave them completely cowed.  **"Some disturbed freak?"**

They don't know what to say; for once, they aren't the one angry—for once, they're the one being intimidated. Pushed down; never before had someone reversed the roles so successfully and easily. "What the fuck are you talking about?" They attempt to snap back, but there's a significant lack of bite in their words. "You asked me to tell you, so I did—"

Sans hisses out a breath and Chara watches as he, very visibly, forces himself calm. It's the least composed they've seen him, ever, and they're unsure how they feel about it. "you're free to think of me as you wish. hate me, scorn me, consider me a murderer—i don't give a shit," the profanity surprises them for some reason, "hate me for whatever transgression you think i've committed against frisk. i'll take it all. but never," his tone becomes even more serious, " _ever_ think i'll go around fuckin' little kids."

Chara hates it. They hate him, they hate him, they  _ hate him so much, _  hate how his presence can so easily revert them back to the days when their anger wasn't enough to protect and keep them safe _.  _ “doesn’t matter who you are, i’ve got no interest in kids; never have, never will. i’m not about that; i'm no fuckin' cradle robber. you don’t gotta be afraid of  _ that _ , for you or frisk. got it?”

It's hard to breathe, but they manage somehow. “How can I trust _you?”_ They ask, feeling more childish than they ever wanted to again. “You could be lying through your teeth.”

"could be," he agrees, "but trust me. if i was, you'd know by now." Sans doesn't dare to move. "you—and frisk. you're safe from that, neither me or papyrus are gonna come after  _either_ of you. cross my SOUL." Though not a monster, Chara knows just how serious such a thing is; crossing one's SOUL was the equivalent of offering their own life. Unlike the human phrase— _'cross my heart and hope to die_ —, the monster's version was far, far more literal.

Sans wasn't just offering his life; he was offering his magic, as well. It was the highest and most sacred kind of promise a monster could make and breaking one would deprive the monster of any rituals that followed after death. Their dust would not be scattered across their prized possessions, their name would not be remembered in any way but scorn; but worse than anything else, they would be a permanent stain on those around them. They would be remembered as someone so rotten that they would break the most sacred and holy commitment and promise one could give.

It is not something said lightly and it takes them completely off guard.

Chara feels a lump of tears in their throat and clasp their hands over their mouth to suppress any sounds from coming out. Sans sighs, looking up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to the child. "here's how it'll go: i'll heal 'em, and you'll watch the entire time. if you think it's wrong, that i'm hurtin' them like that—dust me. i won't dodge." They look up at that, remembering just how fervently he'd dodged all their attacks in the Execution hall. "you'll be in control've this; understand?"

They hiccup and nod. "I-I'll really dust you if you try," they threaten. "I'll hurt you. I won't care—i-if you try and hurt them, then I'll dust you. I'll kill you."

"good." 

And yet, even with the SOUL binding promise and permission—as if they  _needed it_ —to dust Sans, the entire process leaves them shaking. It dregs up memories they hate to remember; the days of their weakness, when they were too helpless to protect themselves from the older kids. Even when the wounds have been healed over, with only scars to prove they'd existed in the first place, and pajama pants have replaced the bloodied ones, Chara cannot stop their trembles.

Sans stands then, observing the two children curled up in the bed that is, quite frankly, too small for two children to share, even with Frisk's diminutive size and Chara's lankiness—the sign of a child who had hit a growth spurt, but never quite grew into it; or, in this case, had the chance to grow into it. A surge of anger hits him suddenly. He'd accepted and taken on the responsibility of one child—a disturbed and damaged child, whose state he likely played a part in worsening—and ended up with a second, just as damaged one. A different kind of damage, but damage nonetheless.

Sans hated making promises. They were something that he, more often than not, would be doomed and forced to break; not because he wanted to, but because it just  _happened._ Promises implied that the world was unchanging, that it was a stable and reliable place to be.  If you could make a promise, you could place your trust in the fate of an ever changing and uncontrollable mess of a world—of a timeline that felt no remorse or sympathy for its inhabitants. You could place your trust in another person and believe they were infallible and capable of adapting to whatever situation arose. 

He was not. He was a coward.

Sans knew he was apathetic; he felt little, most of the time, as if time was a haze and the days were just something to do. Motions to go through. That wasn't to say he hated others or hated existing—simply that, realistically, no one could be trusted, and that his existence itself had little merit. The timeline would shift and twist as it wanted and cared little for what he thought of it all, so what was the purpose of committing himself to something he'd never be able to properly control? There were few people in his life that he could say, unconditionally, he would always stand by, and who he could trust despite the ever changing world around them. So very few.

He hated promises, because the situation he promised it upon would never be stable. There would always be another variable—something unexpected and unaccounted for, regardless of how many angles he looked at and examined it and, inevitably, he would have to break that promise. It was easier and less painful to avoid making them altogether.

This was just another example. He'd bound himself to something entirely different; something he'd never expected to occur when the lady behind the door had begged for his help. He'd accepted the promise only because he'd calculated and run through the process and situations beforehand; analyzed and worked through every possible outcome or bump and how he could deal with it and determined that it was worth the attempt. That he was capable of succeeding.

And yet, he had overlooked something. Already once he had been forced to re-calibrate and adjust his plans, way back in the beginning when he'd been unaware of just how  _deep_ the problem went. That had been dealt with, though; that had been an easy fix. But this—this was not.

This was not the promise he'd made and yet it was—and, now, he'd been tossed to the wolves with no plans, nothing to fall back on and reference. There was nothing in his arsenal to deal with this variable that had been introduced; everything would have to be adjusted and recalculated. There was so little time, and so much at risk—

Sans hated making promises but he hated breaking them even more.

"everythin's fine," he tells them. "well. not everything, but. for now, it's good. the two've you are safe—from undyne, from me, from papyrus; none've us are gonna be comin' after you. we will  _never_ come after you." He taps the door knob, making a very obvious reference to the lock installed there, "this door here? can't be broken down. doesn't matter if you toss a thousand spears at it or set it on fire, it's not gonna budge. only way in or out is if it's already open." It isn't  _entirely_ true, considering Sans himself is capable of teleporting in, but he thinks it better not to mention that. No need to incite further panic or distrust when there's already so much already. "so if you ever think we're gonna get'cha or come hurt you? lock it."

Chara is silent for a few seconds before they point to the shed door and ask, "And that one?"

"'guess we can do the same't that, too. if ya' want." They nod, grasping Frisk's hand tightly. Their chest rises and falls as it should; perhaps a bit slower than usual, but nothing even remotely similar to what should've happened with the split of their SOUL. "take it easy, kid. open?" Sans asks, as he cracks the door back to the house open.

"Close it," they mutter the order. He shrugs, but sure enough closes the door behind him. Chara watches for a long moment, expecting him to burst back in—they consider getting up and locking the door, just in case, but hold back. They hated Sans, but loved Frisk more. They hate to admit that, out of all the adults in their life, him and Papyrus are the most capable and proper of them all. The most stable. The safest.

"It's gonna be okay," they repeat to Frisk, even though they know they cannot be heard, contorting their body awkwardly so that they can lay at their side. It's uncomfortable, but Chara could care less. "I'm not gonna leave. You're gonna be fine, and—and I won't leave. I'll never leave. You're okay."

Whether they're talking to Frisk or themselves at that point, they don't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene, in particular, was very, very hard for me to write. My way of thinking is very similar to Sans'; I think and process in a very mechanical and analytical fashion. I hate surprises and when they come up, must immediately formulate and account for them; I observe and plan for every circumstance, and for those circumstances. A lot of the time, I've been told that the way I speak sounds like a script; as if I read a 'how-to' article on something, when in reality it is just how I function. I don't deal well with emotions, yet I feel many. And yet I don't. I stray towards logic, but I fail. Everyone fails; we are not machines. We are not one dimensional.
> 
> I have written Sans as a similar character. The last part with him, I hope, was able to convey why he acts as he does; I stated outright how I would be approaching his character, so I hope everyone can see and understand how he has reached this point (and how I have written and built him up to this point). The Sans at this point is not the Sans from the start, though I am unsure whether I have done a proper job displaying that. I, of course, feel I have, but it's not always as obvious to others. I hope I have done well, however.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please leave any comments or feedback in the comments.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But you're human now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to get this out for a really long time, and I'm sorry it took this long. After the last chapter, I felt really discouraged. It made me feel inadequate and like a failure. And this chapter has a lot of Papyrus and Undyne, whose personality doesn't come easy to me, so I held back even further out of fear that I would have a repeat of those feelings once more. He's often turned into one or two personality traits and left with only those, but I don't want to do that ... I want to flesh him out and breathe life into him. But maybe I'll do it wrong, and people will hate it.
> 
> Ironically, Sans is the character I have the strongest grasp on. I can feel his complexities and understand how he processes. Papyrus is the complete opposite of that, though. And Undyne is ... Undyne. Maybe I'll mess her up too; I'm afraid I won't do a good enough job.
> 
> And then there is my own life. That is neither here nor there, but I'm just being assaulted at every angle. I can't breathe, every motion and action takes so much energy. I feel like I'm teetering on the edge ... and it's really scary.
> 
> I'll try better from now on, so please understand if things aren't feeling 'right' in this chapter. I'm too ... off kilter.

 

_I don't feel sadness, or loneliness_

_My bones just feel even more dry._

-

Sans has about two minutes to himself, following his departure from the children’s room, before the wrath of Undyne and Papyrus are upon him. The weight of the situation hits him like a bag of bricks and, suddenly, his bones feel an awful lot older than they actually are.

What he wouldn’t give to go back to the days of predictability, where he could control and micromanage every aspect of his life to maximize efficiency—laziness, that is. An organized life was a lazy one; knowing exactly where all his cards lay and which were face down made everything so much easier. He could build a response to those situations; all it took was one familiar aspect before things could branch out and take route. He only needed _one._

He has none.

“fuck me,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead tiredly, already feeling the ache of a headache beginning to form. “what i wouldn’t give to fix this shit already …”

Papyrus’ wrath is overshadowed by relief, but Undyne’s burns with the heat of a supernova; a Rank 1 disaster with no safe escape and, although she’s dressed only in a casual pair of jeans and a tank top, covered by a jacket to top it all off, she looks every bit Captain of the Royal Guard that she is.

“So …” she starts lowly, her eyes focused on the door separating her from the two humans she’d been coerced into rescuing, “care to explain _why_ you two have been harboring two humans … a federal crime?”

Sans crosses his arms over his chest and keeps his back to the wall while Papyrus straightens his shoulders. It’s just like his brother, to stand up for what he knows is right, even in the face of danger and the loss of the position he so covets. Papyrus is fully aware what this will heavily hinder, if not completely destroy, his chances at ever joining the guard.

And yet, that doesn't even sway him.

“UNDYNE, YOU MUST UNDERSTAND—”

“UNDERSTAND?” He cringes. “Papyrus—you’ve been up and rearing to catch a human for as long as I’ve known you; how could you let yourself be tricked so easily!? They’re _dangerous;_ THEY’RE keeping us trapped down here!”

“FRISK IS HARMLESS.” Papyrus knows it’s the truth, he knows he isn’t lying, and yet he can’t help but doubt his own words for some strange reason. “THEY ARE SMALL AND SICK—AND SOMETIMES, THEY DO NOT WANT TO TALK OR LOOK AT ANYONE … BUT THEY ARE STILL A CHILD, UNDYNE. IT ISN’T RIGHT.”

Undyne hisses out a breath and roughly removes her jacket, leaving her in just the tank top and jeans she’d been dressed in back at her house. “And what about that other one?”

“THE … OTHER ONE?” Papyrus repeats, baffled. “THERE’S ONLY ONE.”

“Uh—no?” She looks at Sans who pointedly looks in the opposite direction. “I carried _two_ of those things back here; the bloody one, and—” she stops abruptly, the vivid image of the child’s SOUL splitting playing on a gruesome and disturbing loop. “… That second one wasn’t always here, were they?”

“they probably were,” Sans says suddenly, drawing both of their attentions to him, “i’ve been pretty sure ‘bout it for awhile, but the kid confirmed it ‘while back. … i talked to the second one, actually.”

Papyrus gapes. “WHAT! BUT I’VE ONLY EVER …”

It feels obvious, all of a sudden. All the odd discrepancies he’d noticed since Frisk moved in, from their eye colour randomly changing to their entire mannerism and speech switching. He’d always dismissed it as a personality quirk; everyone was different, after all, and who was _he_ to judge someone? Papyrus had always been too loud, too naive—he knew far too well what it felt like to be singled out for something ‘odd’ or abnormal. The thought of doing so to Frisk hadn’t ever come to mind.

“mm. yeah, you see now.” Sans scratches the back of his neck with a sigh. “frisk’s been carrying along another kid the entire time, sharin’ their body, SOUL, all that stuff.”

“That’s impossible,” Undyne replies shortly. “It—”

“‘’yknow, undyne, imma put it straight with you,” he says suddenly, his patience nearly run thin, “it’s not what a SOUL should be able to do; i fuckin’ _get it._ better than you’d imagine, actually. who do ya’ think’s been trying to figure it out?” The air feels heavier for a second and both Undyne and Papyrus stiffen, but the pressure is gone almost as quickly as it came. “the state of their SOUL’s a fucking mess, and i have no damn clue how it got that way; so shut up about the damn SOUL already, because i’m fully aware just how screwed up it is.”

Undyne seethes, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists a few times before breathing out heavily. “Fine, you’re right,” she begrudgingly agrees, “I’ll let that go. But I want an explanation for why you’ve been harboring a damn HUMAN for who KNOWS HOW LONG!”

“ENOUGH.” Papyrus’ expression is unusually solemn, especially for a skeleton. “I HAVE NOT SEEN FRISK … OR THEIR FRIEND, BUT FROM WHAT I’VE HEARD, THEY ARE IN A VERY BAD CONDITION.” He looks at the door that Sans is standing by—definitely _not_ guarding—and resists the urge to step right past him and check on Frisk. His SOUL aches in concern, and there’s the profound feeling that he’d betrayed them; they had obviously sent Flowey to find him and yet he’d led Undyne straight to them instead. It hadn’t been intentional, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’d done it. “THEY NEED REST, AND IF WE CONTINUE ARGUING LIKE THIS THEY WILL NEVER GET IT.”

“But—”

“UNDYNE, PLEASE,” he isn’t begging, but there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, “I KNOW THEY ARE A HUMAN. BUT ABOVE ALL ELSE, THEY ARE A CHILD—A SCARED AND INJURED CHILD. CAN WE NOT SAVE THIS ARGUMENT UNTIL THEY’VE AT LEAST RECOVERED A BIT?”

Undyne stares at him silently, her expression an uncomfortable and unnerving mix of anger and surprise. Finally she sighs, her posture relaxing into a slight slouch. “Fine,” she mutters. “But you two owe me an explanation, and I want it before this storm’s over.”

“AS LONG AS WE CAN KEEP OUR TONES CIVIL …” Papyrus is still staring at the door. “NOW. MAY I CHECK ON THEM FIRST?”

Sans shrugs. “go ahead, though i doubt much has changed in the last …” he looks down at his wrist, which is very obviously lacking in a watch, “however long it's been. seems like i misplaced my watch again.”

Papyrus huffs, stepping past his brother and wrapping his hand around the handle. “YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I DO THAT YOU BROKE YOUR WATCH THIRTY TWO DAYS AGO, SANS.”

“eh. details.”

* * *

 

Chara can’t get used to having their body back and the influx of sensations that accompany that transition. They’d thought that inhabiting Frisk’s body would’ve prepared them for the act of—well, existing. The world hadn’t ever felt so loud and explosive in Frisk’s body, much less as a ghost, but even the feel of the sheets against their skin feels like too much. Their skin tingles with over sensitivity, their eyes burn from the exposure of light; they crave darkness. Perhaps their eyes wouldn’t burn so badly in the dark. They hear so much and so little at the same time, a terrible cacophony of arguments and disjointed pieces that _hurt._ Nothing is as it should be, and yet it is.

Chara had dreamed of regaining their body once and for all. They hadn’t expected the sheer amount of backlash and _wrongness_ that would permeate their pores, down to their very bones, and knock them off balance. The rights are overtaken by wrongs. The joy of having a body is overshadowed by the pain and exposure to the elements, a stimulation their nerves had lacked for over a century; sharing a body has done nothing to prepare them for this pain, because Frisk’s body had never needed to adjust to the light in their eyes and the air and sheets against their skin; to the feeling of atrophied muscles struggling to gain traction, to the feeling of being displaced and perversely disturbed at a molecular level.

Dreams never did live up to their expectations, even so far into the future.

Talking hurts their throat and with the exhaustion warped into a fear of sleep—it becomes painful to say anything else. Chara has not slept in so long, they wonder briefly how long this body of theirs would survive without any. They watched over and protected; they were a guardian. Guards didn’t sleep. Chara couldn’t sleep without leaving Frisk unprotected.

“Are you dreaming?” They ask, barely a whisper, and yet it seems to echo. Imperceptibly loud, yet nearly silent. “I hope you’re dreaming something nice.”

Their chest feels too full. They’d grown so used to the empty feeling that came with a lack of a SOUL—Chara wonders what would have happened to them if they hadn’t latched onto Frisk’s so hard. If Frisk hadn’t allowed them to take something so important and vital for survival; would they have turned out like Asriel—Flowey—their brother? Their best friend?

Would they have become a monster?

“I get why you do it,” they continue, forcing themselves to sit up and move to the end of the bed, where Frisk can’t reach. “Try not to feel—I get it now.” They pause, shuddering as a hard gust of wind crashes into the outside of the shed. They can feel the bitter chill of the outside world, even tucked inside the shed and protected. The wind had been cruel and cutting, eager to drag them to their knees and leave them out to die; they’d become too weak. Their revival, if they dare to call it such, left them terrorized by the darkness and cold embrace of death. Death, which they’d so willingly threw themselves into so long ago—

_I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die but I have to._

_You’re the hope of monster kind. We’re all depending on you, Chara,_

_Chara,_

_Chara—_

They slam their teeth down on their lip and resist the urge to scream.

“HELLO?” Their head jerks up as the door creaks open and they catch Undyne’s glare as Papyrus steps through the threshold, his placating smile holding up the whole time. “SO YOU ARE CH—CHARA? CHARA. YES—OH. SHOULD I CLOSE THE DOOR?” Chara is positive Papyrus knows they’re going to agree but they nod anyways, their gaze not leaving Undyne’s until a barrier of wood separates them from one another. “IT’S NICE TO MEET YOU, I’M—”

“Papyrus,” they finish for him. “I know who you are.” Chara wonders just how much _Papyrus_ knows; how much had his trash bag of a brother see fit to share? “Frisk—told me,” they finish lamely. “What do you want?”

He blinks. “OH! WELL, IT SEEMS LIKE WE’VE BOTH LEARNED OF EACH OTHER FROM AN OUTSIDE SOURCE; BUT PROPER INTRODUCTIONS ARE STILL IN ORDER!”

Chara’s brow furrows. Something feels off about this all; Papyrus seems … _different._ They can’t place what’s off, but there’s something there that they’re missing. “Uh—okay … “ their throat still aches. Everything hurts, actually; they hope that they aren’t getting sick. “Do you wanna go first, or …?”

"IT IS UP TO YOU."

Something is _definitely_ off.

Chara crosses their arms and leans back, fully aware of Papyrus' proximity to the bed—not that they really believe he's of any real threat to them. If there was any chance for him _to_ be a threat, it would've been during their last run, but—

But instead, he'd smiled as they beheaded him and reassured them that everything was okay, and—and—

"I'm Chara,: They mutter, slouching their shoulders as they avert their eyes. "Sans probably told you everything anyways; he's always doing that, but I'm—I'm Frisk's friend." They don't feel like a very good friend, at this point in time, but know Frisk well enough that even if they _are_ undeserving of such a title, the child would never try and take it from them.

Briefly, they wonder what would happen if they died. Frisk couldn't survive without a whole SOUL; would shattering the piece inside of Chara kill Frisk as well?

Can they RESET and LOAD now, too?

Can they _SAVE?_

"WELL," Papyrus starts, "IT'S NICE TO MEET YOU! I KNOW FRISK MUST HAVE TOLD YOU ALL ABOUT ME, CONSIDERING JUST HOW INCREDIBLE I AM. BUT I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND I'M SORRY FOR ALLOWING SUCH A … SITUATION TO OCCUR," he says, his tone surprisingly soft despite its volume, "I KNOW FRISK—AND YOU—SENT FLOWEY TO FIND ME. I WAS SUPPOSED TO KEEP UNDYNE AWAY, BUT INSTEAD LEAD HER RIGHT TO YOU; I AM SINCERELY SORRY."

Chara blinks, taken aback by the abrupt apology. "You know Flowey?"

"OH! YES," He folds his gloved hands together and tells them, "WE ARE GOOD FRIENDS! I MET HIM … WELL. A LONG TIME AGO. NO NEED TO WORRY YOURSELF WITH THAT. HOWEVER! WHAT MATTERS IS THAT—… THAT I FAILED YOU." He sighs, averting his eyes in an almost anxious matter that makes Chara's stomach twist. "YOU PUT YOUR TRUST IN ME; TO COME AND FIND YOU, TO BRING YOU HOME SAFELY, AND TO KEEP YOU A SECRET FROM UNDYNE. BUT I FAILED ALL THREE OF THOSE."

"It's not your fault," they reply. "I'm the reason we ended up out there anyways, so it's my fault." Chara draws their knees to their chest and glances over at Frisk's sleeping figure. They show no signs of waking, despite the conversation happening between Papyrus and Chara; whether that's a good thing or not, they're unsure. "I always push Frisk into doing stuff—if not for me, this wouldn't have happened. If I'd just—just been less _me,_ then Frisk wouldn't have gotten hurt, and _s-she_ wouldn't have seen us or known about us, and—"

Papyrus shakes his head, interrupting them with, "YOU SHOULD NOT BLAME YOURSELF FOR THIS; AFTER ALL, I'M SURE YOU HAD A GOOD REASON TO GO OUT IN THIS STORM—AND I'M ALSO SURE YOU DID NOT EXPECT FOR THIS TO HAPPEN." Chara grits their teeth, clenching the fabric of their leggings between their fingers. "IT … WAS AN UNFORTUNATE ACCIDENT, BUT NOT ONE YOU SHOULD BLAME YOURSELF FOR."

"You don't know anything." They take a moment to steady themselves and push down the anger brewing in their gut. Just like in the cave, they can't afford to let that anger show so blatantly. Papyrus may be far older than them, but the thought of directing their rage towards him feels _wrong._ As much as they hate to admit it, the likelihood that Flowey had simply found some loophole in their request is higher than Papyrus deliberately betraying them—if they could even consider it a betrayal, considering the fact that no one but Frisk and Chara know why they'd wanted to keep Undyne as far away as possible. Still, it doesn't ease the sting. "You don't _understand._ "

"WELL, I AM A GOOD LISTENER, IF YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. OF COURSE," he adds, "THERE'S NO PRESSURE! DO WHATEVER YOU FEEL MOST COMFORTABLE WITH."

Chara says nothing, a heavy silence filling the room as they muse over their thoughts. As far as Papyrus is aware, he's never met them; Chara has weeks of taking talking to him through Frisk and observing the interactions between the two of them—they know him, but he doesn't know them. In fact, other than Sans and Frisk, _no one_ does. MK, Moki, Cinnamon, the slime siblings; they don't know them. They just know Frisk.

Papyrus knows nothing about them, and yet he's offering support. Just like the last round, when he'd given them mercy and understanding despite his fear.

It enrages them.

A scream catches in their throat, begging to be released, and their eyes screw shut as they tremble. Why does he have to be so _nice?_ Why must he care so much about a stranger? Why, why, why—

"Why did you let Undyne find us?" They ask instead, their voice accusatory and shoulders shaking. Whether it's from fear or anger they're unsure, but the fact remains that it feels as if they'll burst in any second. Their anger will take over, and they'll lash out—they'll hurt Papyrus, even if it's just emotionally. And, as horrible as it is, the thought is almost tempting. It would be so _easy;_ they'd finally be left alone. Pain made people go away; it left them safe. "She could've—could've—" their deaths flash behind their eyes, phantom pains breaking out across the once wounded areas and lighting their nerves like a display of fireworks.

No one would understand.

They _can't_ understand.

"She hunts down humans, and she would've _killed_ Frisk. She'd hurt them even more, all because you let her find us." Their tone is bitter and accusatory, with an undertone of betrayal and anger, and their weak attempts to reign in their anger finally shatters. "How _could you!?_ We trusted you— _Frisk_ trusted you! Frisk was—they—they never trust anyone, because they're too scared of being hurt, so they never let themselves trust. But they tried with you, and—and you broke it. You _broke it._ " They clench their jaw, teeth grinding together painfully, and suddenly Chara hates themselves even more than ever before. It isn't Papyrus' fault; he had no idea Flowey would disobey them, after all. But the resentment and betrayal still remains, dirty and foul, festering in their chest.

They wish they'd never done it.

Papyrus is the one silent this time, surprisingly unfazed by their sharp words. "YOU ARE RIGHT," he admits, a sorrowful expression somehow showing on his face despite any muscles. "I HAD NO INTENTIONS FOR UNDYNE TO LEARN OF YOUR EXISTENCE, BUT THAT DOES NOT DISREGARD THE FACT THAT I ALLOWED HER TO. ACCIDENT OR NOT, I HAVE, IN FACT BETRAYED YOU. AND I APOLOGIZE."

"Stop _saying that!"_ They scream, slamming their fist down on the covers. "Why do you keep apologizing!? You don't know me—you know nothing about me. I'm a stranger, but you just keep being nice and just _stop!"_ Tears burn behind their eyes, threatening to fall, and Chara roughly rubs a fist against their eyes. "You're not supposed to care about me or be nice; you can care about Frisk, but not me. Why do you got to? Why can't you just _stop?"_ They blink rapidly, hating the fact that they can't control the tears on their cheeks. Papyrus had shown them kindness before, but only when they were acting as Frisk. He'd believed that what he was doing was for Frisk. Not for Chara; never for Chara. And they'd been fine with that; it hurt, sometimes, being incorporeal and tied to Frisk and without a body of their own, but at least they were able to enjoy the comfort and feeling of friendship. "I hate it. I _hate_ it!" Their voice climbs to a yell once more, their tears unbridled, and while they're fairly sure that Undyne and Sans can hear them in the living room, Chara could care less.

They still can't understand Papyrus' unbridled kindness.

"YOU'VE BEEN WITH FRISK THIS WHOLE TIME, HAVEN'T YOU?" Papyrus questions, unaffected by their fit. Chara nods, rubbing away the tears once more, and he says, "THEN I AM SURE I'VE MET YOU ONCE, AND I HAVE NEVER FELT ANYTHING NEGATIVE TOWARDS FRISK, WHICH MEANS I HAVE NOT FELT ANYTHING NEGATIVE TO YOU, EITHER. AND EVEN IF WE HAVE NOT TALKED… WELL, EVERYONE DESERVES KINDNESS!" He finally takes a seat, his long legs positioned strangely on hard the wooden floor, but doesn't appear to be bothered by the awkward angle. "ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO FEEL THEY DO NOT."

"What about if they're a bad guy?" They argue, memories of the last run coming to mind. "A murderer. Someone who just killed and killed and killed and showed no mercy to anyone—what about _them?_ How could you ever show kindness to something like that?"

"WELL …" He pauses, thinking for a few seconds before he comes up with a response, "SOMEONE LIKE THAT ESPECIALLY DESERVES KINDNESS. IF THEY HAVE BEEN LEAD DOWN SUCH A DARK PATH, PERHAPS IT IS BECAUSE NO ONE HAS SHOWN THEM LOVE AND GUIDANCE. THEY MAY NOT KNOW ANY BETTER—SO I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WOULD HELP THEM TURN THEIR LIFE AROUND AND MAKE THEM INTO A NEW PERSON. TEACH THEM TO BE BETTER, AND OFFER THEM THE FRIENDSHIP THAT THEY HAVE NEVER HAD. EVERYONE HAS THE POTENTIAL TO BE GOOD."

Chara hugs their knees tighter and pointedly doesn't look at him, instead focusing their attention on Frisk. His words are so similar to what he'd said last time, before they slaughtered him and let his dust be swept away by the wind, and the memory aches. "How can you say that?"

"HOW?" He repeats, and they nod. "WELL, IT'S SIMPLE! NO ONE IS BORN BAD, SO THEIR BADNESS MUST HAVE BEEN CAUSED BY SOMETHING ELSE. IF I CAN OFFER THEM KINDNESS AND TEACH THEM TO BE GOOD, PERHAPS THEY WON'T FEEL THE NEED TO HURT ANYONE ANYMORE."

"You know that'll put you in danger, right?" Chara tells him. "If you can't fix them, and they hurt you anyways, then you're just gonna be dead. Just a big pile of dust."

It's obvious he's unnerved, but Papyrus powers on regardless. "IF THAT IS THE PRICE I MUST PAY, THEN I WILL TAKE IT IN STRIDE. BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN THEY DON'T DESERVE A CHANCE—I CANNOT STAND BACK AND WATCH WHEN I KNOW THERE'S SOMETHING I COULD'VE DONE."

They hide their face in their knees, tensing their muscles and squeezing their hands together tightly. The words sting; their sins crawl down their back, leaving a terrible chill in the spaces between their vertebrae. Chara killed him; Chara killed Papyrus, who had been so kind—who was willing to put his life on the line, just so he could help them. Even now he's the same, offering them kindness despite everything.

They don't understand.

"You don't make any sense," Chara mutters, shaking their head. "Being like that just makes you weak. You'll be weak and easy to kill; it'll all be in vain."

" … WELL, YES—MAYBE," he amends. "BUT WEAKNESS IS NOT SOMETHING TO BE ASHAMED OF."

"Yes it _is!"_ They grind their teeth together, feeling the indentation of their nails in their palm. "Weakness is the worst thing you can have. Weakness means that you're vulnerable, and when you're vulnerable you're _helpless_ . You become a target and stuck at another person's mercy." They spit the word out as if it's acid on their tongue. "How can you _want_ to be weak? If you're dead, you're dead, and that means that you died a stupid _idiot_ who couldn't even save themselves because they let themselves be at the mercy of someone else, and—and—" the words catch in their throat, cutting them off abruptly, and Chara chokes back the tears that won't go away. "Weakness will get you hurt, a-and—and nobody should ever wanna be weak. You should be _strong_ so you'll never be stuck like that. Giving kindness to someone bad like that—it's worthless and a waste and—and a whole lot of other things."

Papyrus stares at them solemnly, his arms crossed over his knees as Chara rants away, and it's only when they've stopped and are struggling to compose themselves again that he speaks. "EVEN SO, I DO NOT TAKE BACK MY STATEMENT. SHOWING WEAKNESS AND VULNERABILITY … IT IS VERY SCARY," he admits, "BUT I THINK THAT SOMEONE WHO IS ABLE TO EXPOSE THEMSELVES IS QUITE BRAVE; YOU HAVE TO TRUST SOMEONE DEARLY TO DO SO, AND IT TAKES A LOT OF STRENGTH AND COURAGE TO OVERCOME THAT FEAR."

"It isn't brave," they argue halfheartedly, unable to come up with any further argument; there's nothing left for them to refute with. "It's just—it's just being foolish and stupid."

He seems to realize that they've run out of responses and allows the conversation to end there. Whether Chara accepts his words or not, there's nothing else he can do about it except offer guidance and reassurance. "WHAT KIND OF FOODS DO YOU LIKE? I KNOW HUMANS LIKE CINNABUNNIES AND HOT CHOCOLATE, BUT THERE MUST BE MORE YOU ENJOY!"

"I like all chocolates." Their posture is still tense, but they uncurl from the tight ball they'd positioned themselves in. "Chocolates and pie—" _they hadn't known that buttercups were poison; they didn't mean it, didn't mean to harm him—_ "just—just that kinda stuff, I guess …" they finish quietly. "I don't really remember."

Papyrus tilts his head curiously. "HOW CAN YOU FORGET WHAT YOU LIKE? THOSE THINGS ARE YOUR FAVORITES! FOR EXAMPLE; I, PAPYRUS, LOVE SPAGHETTI; IT'S MY FAVORITE! OF COURSE, THERE IS NO WAY I COULD FORGET THAT, BECAUSE SPAGHETTI IS A CULINARY GENIUS; ESPECIALLY WHEN MADE BY ME. … BUT THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT!"

Chara tastes buttercups. They can _feel_ their throat blistering, swelling up and cracking around the fragile skin of their mouth; their stomach twisting and cramping until they can do little more than choke and cry, because the buttercups have swollen their throat shut and—

"Who cares how," they mutter, kicking one leg out anxiously. "It's not like you're gonna believe me, just like you're not gonna believe why we're scared of Undyne. So just—just leave it alone." Their hands ache from rashes and blisters except, when Chara looks down, they find nothing but unblemished skin. No redness, no bumps—no transparency. Just human skin, the same shade it'd been when they died.

They feel like an impostor.

"OH, VERY WELL, IF YOU REALLY DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT I WILL NOT FORCE YOU TO," he relents. "BUT I HOPE WE CAN FIND MORE FOODS THAT YOU LIKE! MAYBE YOU'LL REMEMBER YOUR FAVORITES THAT WAY; IN FACT, WE SHOULD HAVE A FEAST! A FEAST OF GREAT PROPORTIONS SO YOU CAN REMEMBER ALL YOUR FAVORITE FOODS!"

They raise an eyebrow. "What if I don't like any of them?"

"THEN WE'LL JUST HAVE TO HAVE ANOTHER." Papyrus claps his hands together, the sound muffled by his gloves, and gets to his feet. "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, VOW TO HELP YOU REMEMBER YOUR FAVORITE FOODS, NO MATTER HOW LONG IT TAKES! AS A FUTURE MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD, I SHALL NOT BACK DOWN FROM THIS CHALLENGE."

"You don't have to—"

"WELL, MAYBE NOT TODAY." It's as if Chara hadn't said anything, because Papyrus continues on without any sign that he'd heard them, "AFTER ALL, FRISK … IS NOT WELL, AND I AM SURE THEY WOULD LIKE TO JOIN IN, TOO. AND WITH THE STORM OUTSIDE, WE CANNOT BUY ANY GROCERIES. BUT!" He nods. "ONCE IT HAS CLEARED UP, WE WILL GATHER ALL THE INGREDIENTS WE NEED TO CREATE A FEAST! A FEAST OF EPIC PROPORTIONS, UNMATCHED BY ANY FEAST THAT HAS BEEN MADE BEFORE … OF COURSE. WITH ME IN CHARGE, YOU SHOULD EXPECT NOTHING ELSE."

It's a narcissistic statement if Chara's ever heard one, but despite that they feel their mood lighten. Not nearly enough to overshadow their worry for Frisk, but it's still something. Papyrus meanders over to Frisk's side, his motions open and slow as not to startle Chara, and reaches out to hold their hand. "WELL, IT SEEMS WE'LL DEFINITELY NEED TO REMAKE THESE MITTENS," he notes, taking in the various rips and torn fabric as he checks, "AND A PAIR FOR YOU AS WELL, CHARA—IT IS MUCH TOO COLD TO WALK AROUND IN THOSE CLOTHES!"

"It _is_ pretty cold," they say, tracking his movements in preparation to lunge at any kind of threat, "but I can just use Frisk's stuff. At least for now, I guess, since it's too cold to go out like this anyways."

"ONCE THE WEATHER HAS CLEARED UP," Papyrus agrees. "WE WILL ALSO HAVE TO INVEST IN ANOTHER BED AND DRAWER—BUT DON'T CONCERN YOURSELF WITH THAT!" He says, before they can say anything, "THAT IS THE RESPONSIBILITY OF US ADULTS, SO PLEASE DO NOT WORRY ABOUT IT!"

They cross their arms over their chest as Papyrus releases Frisk's hand, carefully placing it back down on the bed. They can't muster up the energy, at this point, to be angry; too much has happened at in the last hour, sending them completely off kilter—and while all it would take is a single flame to light their fuse, Papyrus lacks that flame. He's too kind; too understanding and honest, with motivations that lack the usual deception that should accompany them.

Transparent and genuine; they _still_ can't understand.

A knock stops either of them from speaking, the door cracking open after a few seconds of warning, and Sans enters, moving to block the threshold. "yo," he greets, one hand buried in his pocket and the other resting on the door knob, "hate to interrupt, but there's some things we need'ta discuss." His gaze focuses onto Chara, who immediately straightens up and offers a wary glare in his direction. "and before you ask, yeah. you gotta come."

"I'm not going," they say back, their voice far firmer than it'd been while talking to Papyrus, "I refuse; I'm not gonna."

"you ain't really got a choice, kid." Chara can't spot Undyne from their place on the bed, but they're positive she hasn't left yet. "there's a _snow_ lotta things we gotta clear up, and frisk's not really in any condition to do it."

They look behind him again, searching for the Executioner—she's been given a name, but Chara can't shake the association, the feeling of a spear twisting in their gut and pinning them into stone, the terror as they stared into the face of death, over, and over again—and while they still can't spot her a wave of terror hits them at the very thought of being trapped with no means of escape.

They squeeze their hands into fists, a sharp intake of breath escaping their mouth as their throat constricts in fear. "You—you can't make me. I won't go; I won't, a-and you _can't make me._ " They need to get the skeleton brothers out and lock the door—it would leave only one entrance into the room and, with the raging storm outside, they can only hope that neither the brothers nor Undyne would be willing to make the short journey and break down that door. "I'm not gonna go."

"THERE'S NO NEED TO BE AFRAID," Papyrus attempts, "SANS AND I WILL BE THERE, TOO; AND WHILE I AM UNSURE WHY YOU ARE SO SCARED, I CAN PROMISE THAT NOTHING WILL HAPPEN."

"It will!" They snap, and it's fear that pushes them forward rather than anger. "She'll do it anyways; she'll come for me and she'll come for _Frisk_ and—and we can't—I-I can't—I can't protect them. I can't; I—It's not safe, and I won't _go."_ They're borderline hysterical at this point, chest heaving as they struggle to get enough air in their lungs. If it comes down to it, Chara knows they'd do everything in their power to protect Frisk; they'll take the torture, the pain, the execution; they'll take it all.

But despite their willingness, they fear it. They fear the feeling of spears ripping through their body and skewering them like a piece of meat, nothing more than something to be hunted down and slaughtered like cattle. They fear what will happen to Frisk if they die.

Sans and Papyrus share a look. It's necessary for at least _one_ of the two children to take part, so they can get the full gist of what happened—but at this rate, the only way they'll get Chara away from Frisk is by dragging them away, and just the thought of it leaves the both of them unsettled.

"IF IT'S UNDYNE'S POSITION AS THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD THAT SCARES YOU, YOU HAVE NO NEED TO WORRY; I AM _SURE_ MY BROTHER HAS INFORMED HER THAT THERE WILL BE NO. VIOLENCE. IN THIS HOUSE." Sans nods in response, quietly leaning back against the door frame. "AND I'M SURE IF WE JUST EXPLAIN THE SITUATION, SHE'LL UNDERSTAND AND NOT TRY AND KILL YOU!"

Sans winces. "bro—"

"Frisk could wake up," they point out, "and if I'm not in here, they're gonna be afraid; they'll think I left them, and—and that'll be all your fault. Anything that happens will be _your fault._ " The words are laced with venom, and it's almost enough to hide their fear.

Almost, but not enough.

"listen." Sans sighs. "you gotta do it, whether you like it or not, and i'm sure you don't wanna have a conversation in this room, do you?" He asks. Chara opens their mouth to protest, only to shut it before they can voice the words. "if it makes ya' feel any better, we can keep the door open."

"That's won't protect anyone and you know it." They glare down at their hands, unclenching and clenching them rhythmically. It does nothing to help, but at least it's something to do. "She's the Devil, and the Devil shows no mercy or kindness or reasoning; you're just gonna be sending me to my death—" _again,_ "so—so you can just fuck off and leave us alone."

"WHY DO YOU CALL HER THE DEVIL?" Papyrus asks curiously as Sans shuts the door behind them in hopes of muffling the conversation. "YOU TWO HAVE NEVER MET. … I BELIEVE. AND SHE RESCUED YOU FROM THE CAVE AND BROUGHT YOU BACK HERE!"

_"You don't GET IT!"_ They finally scream, their hand lashing out and slamming against the wall at their back; the anger has finally risen to its climax, burning through waves upon waves of walls they'd feebly put up to restrain it. A wave of pain runs up their arm and they immediately feel the area begin to swell, but Chara pays it no mind. "You'll never understand, so just stop _fucking_ asking!" You're never gonna understand— _never,_ and—and I'm so _sick of you pretending you do!_ "

Papyrus jumps at the outburst but his surprise is quickly overtaken by concern. "PLEASE DO NOT PUNCH THE WALLS—YOU COULD REALLY HURT YOURSELF!"

"And you want to let her hurt me," they sneer in response. "I won't leave Frisk, and I—I won't face her. I don't _care_ what you say. You don't underst _tand._ "

"then explain," Sans says simply. "explain why's such a big deal."

Chara shakes their head, a bitter taste filling their mouth. "well, guess you gotta go then." Sans steps forward and immediately Chara is on their feet, positioning themselves in front of Frisk despite the shakiness in their stance. Their expression is wild, with an almost feral quality to it, and pupils dilated to the point where they're almost overtaken by red. "chill. i ain't doin' anything," he says calmly, his hands raised in a pacifying manner. "just calm down."

"SANS, I DON'T THINK …"

"you gotta do what'cha gotta do." Sans stops just outside an arms length from the child, his hands still raised, and begins, "listen. chara." He pauses. "i dunno what happened back _then,"_ he says, "but you've gotta remember that this is somethin' entirely different. it's not the same situation."

"It could still happen," they reply, resisting the urge to rub at their injured hand, "you don't get it; you'll _never_ get it."

"mm. maybe not," he admits, "but sometimes you just have'ta deal with it, kid." He shifts his gaze over to Frisk. If not for the fact that he'd seen them earlier, covered in their own blood and wounds, he might have guessed they were just asleep; but he _had_ seen them, and the image is imprinted in his mind, a disturbing loop that he can't turn off. "sometimes you gotta do stuff you don't want to; 's just a part of life."

Chara says nothing, unable to meet either of their eyes. Their fist throbs, but they don't regret punching the wall. At least it was _something_ ; their anger had been held and pent up for too long, due to explode at any moment—they're just lucky it wasn't when Frisk was awake. "i know it's gotta be scary, but you gotta get done."

They exhale shakily, their shoulders trembling as the adrenaline fueled anger falls away. "I—" they feel so much _more_ as a human—everything is cranked up to 11 and they can almost _feel_ the terror eating away at them. _This is how Frisk felt._

_This is why Frisk hides._

"I don't want to die." Their voice is small and soft, warbling under a level of vulnerability that they haven't felt in a century. It's as if they'll shatter at any moment; that the fear will take over and reduce them to a sobbing mess, just like Hell had done—except, this time, it would be worse, because Frisk would not be able to take it on themselves. "I really—r-really don't, I don't want to die."

Papyrus steps forward as well and rests a gloved hand on their head, just barely enough for them to realize it's there. "I PROMISE YOU. I WILL NOT LET UNDYNE HURT YOU; I WILL NOT LET HER KILL YOU." They hug themselves around the waist, squeezing their eyes shut tight as Papyrus speaks. "AND IF SHE TRIES—" he hesitates, "—I SHALL PROTECT YOU. SANS WILL AS WELL; YOU WILL NOT DIE HERE."

Sans shrugs, but agrees regardless. "she'll have a bone to pick with us if she tries, anyways."

Papyrus rolls his eyes.

"But what about Frisk?" Chara asks, glancing over at them. "I promised I wouldn't leave them; they were so scared when they thought I had, I can't—no. I  _won't_ do that to them again."

Sans suggests, "well, we could bring 'em with—"

"Frisk's more afraid of Undyne than me," Chara reluctantly tells them. "I think … it'd probably be a whole lot worse if they woke up with her there. In the cave, they just—"

_Re-broke their arm to get away. Raised a knife to defend themselves, screamed and cried and tried to RESET—_

Chara's expression darkens, but they finish their sentence regardless, "—just … didn't react well."

"WELL … WHAT IF WE LEAVE THEM A NOTE?" Papyrus suggests. "YOU CAN JUST WRITE AND TELL THEM YOU'RE IN THE LIVING ROOM! THAT WAY, THEY'LL KNOW EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE, AND HOW TO FIND YOU."

Chara goes to respond, only to be interrupted by loud pounding on the door. "HEY!" Undyne yells, and immediately they stiffen. "What are you guys DOING!? I thought you were just getting the human—did they DO SOMETHING?"

"'s all good," Sans calls back, "just talkin'. we'll be out in a _minnow_ t." He turns back to Chara, whose face has paled. "looks like time's up, kid; you gonna write the note or not?"

"… I don't really have a choice, anyways."

"you do," he replies, "you just don't like either of 'em."

They scuff their foot against the ground to hide their anxiety. "Whatever."

Walking through the threshold and into the living feels exactly like they'd expect walking to death's row would feel. Their fights with Sans had been similar, but at least there hadn't been much to fear—with Sans, it was the knowledge that they were doomed to die each time.

With Undyne, it's the memories of each death they'd experienced at her hands and the brutality she'd shown them.

Sitting on the couch, with only a tank top and pair of jeans to go along with her fire-red hair, Chara could almost mistake her as normal. There is no armor, no ink splattering from wounds and orifices, no spears raining down on them or protruding from the ground; but when her face turns to look at them, a chill runs up their spine.

This is their Killer. The Devil herself.

"It's about time," Undyne says, straightening up from her slouched posture, though she makes no attempt to get up; whether that's due to something the skeleton brothers told her, or because she'd just rather stay seated, Chara doesn't know; they don't particularly care, either. "What the hell—heck—ugh … what were you guys _doing_ in there?"

"just makin' sure frisk would be fine while we're gone," Sans replies. "anyways, no point 'n draggin' out this conversation longer than necessary. i'm sure you'd agree." He inclines his head towards Chara, who simply crosses their arms over their chest and glares at Undyne. Their fingers grip at their sleeves much tighter than necessary, to the point where they can feel their nails digging in even with the barrier of fabric, but they could care less. Undyne meets their glare but they refuse to back down, instead plastering on what they hope passes for anything other than fear.

"Let's just get—I wanna get this done as fast as possible," they spit out, "I'm not spending anymore time around _her_ unless I have to."

Undyne bares her teeth. "Oh, believe me, the feeling's mutual."

"PLEASE, NO FIGHTING; IT HAS BARELY BEEN A MINUTE!" Papyrus pleads, positioning himself between the two. "I UNDERSTAND YOU TWO … DISLIKE EACH OTHER," he purposely avoids the words 'hate' or, in Chara's case, 'fear, "BUT WE HAVE VERY MUCH TO DISCUSS! SO, THERE WILL BE NO FIGHTING, AND NO VIOLENCE IN THIS HOUSEHOLD!" He adds sternly. "CIVIL. DISCUSSIONS. ONLY!"

"What the hell do you even wanna talk about, anyways?" Chara asks as Sans collapses down on the other side of the couch. "You said we 'have things to discuss', but do you actually _have_ anything? If you're just gonna waste my time—"

"WELL, YOU SEE," Papyrus starts, "WITH THE STORM WORSENING, THE WEATHER IS FAR TOO TREACHEROUS FOR UNDYNE TO MAKE THE TRIP BACK TO WATERFALL, SO IF WE ALL ARE TO COEXIST …"

They jerk so hard that they stumble into the door, the facade falling away completely as a sick feeling rises in their throat. Their legs tremble dangerously, threatening to give out on them from the abrupt collision. "She's—she's _staying_ here?"

"Gotta problem with it, punk?" Undyne challenges. "You're lucky I don't take your SOUL right here and now—it's the last one we need, and then we can finally be _free._ You stand in the way of all our hopes and dreams … but you humans are selfish. It doesn't surprise me at all."

Fake it, fake it.

They have to fake it.

"Are you _stupid?_ " Chara rubs their swollen knuckles and meets Undyne's gaze head on despite how it terrifies them. "I told you, dipshit; I don't _have_ a SOUL. Not my own, anyways; it's—it's half of Frisk's. You'll just waste your time trying to take it." Even with Frisk's SOUL inside them, they lack the connection they'd had before; Chara can feel nothing from Frisk and it leaves them feeling empty. "And if you try, then—then—"

There's a spear in their gut, piercing them straight through as they scramble frantically to grab hold of the slippery hilt. It hurts, it burns, let them die let them die _let them go please don't go back don't don't don't not AGAIN—_

They bury their head in their hands, desperately trying to stave off the gruesome memories. The loop won't end—there's always a button that gets hit, restarting and jumping around until they can't breathe, can't see, can't understand because they're _back in Hell, back where the Devil had tortured and slaughtered them with glee and it bURNS._

"I won't, I-I won't. I won't let you. Not—not again," they babble, sinking down the wall until they're seated. Pictures, sounds, phantom aches and cuts that won't go away. They miss Frisk; they miss how their friend had so seamlessly taken on their emotions and transferred them to themselves. They miss how muted it had become—it had been at Frisk's expense, but at least it didn't _hurt so badly._ "I'll _kill you."_

Would Undyne morph again, melting and decomposing before their very eyes as they struggled to survive? Without the EXP and LV at their side, would they survive at all? Is their HP—

Is it split even lower?

"relax," Sans mutters, as Papyrus crouches at Chara's side and lays a hand on their shoulder, "didn't i tell ya'? ain't nothing gonna happen in here. undyne's not gonna hurt'cha. right?"

Undyne scoffs, but it's obvious that the sight is unnerving her. "I already told you, I'm not in the business of beatin' on people who can't defend themselves. If we're gonna right, it's gotta be a FAIR one!" Chara flinches; curls the fingers of their uninjured hand into their hair and yanks before releasing the strands and squaring their shoulders. They can't afford to be afraid.

Not with Frisk unconscious and helpless in the other room.

Chara breathes in once more and finally manages to compose themselves enough to order, "Just—just tell me what you want."

"two numba' nines, a numba' nine large—"

Chara's foot lashes out at Sans who just chuckles from his place on the couch. "Shut  _up."_

"fine, fine … suppose now ain't the best time, anyways." Papyrus tries to help Chara to their feet but, with both Sans and Undyne taking up the couch, they refuse to go anywhere near it and instead settle right back up against the wall. At least then their back is protected. "where'd you come from, kid?"

They wrap their arms around their knees. "I already told you," they snap. "Is your head so empty you can't even remember that much? Oh, wait—" they sneer at him, "that's right. Your head actually  _is_ empty."

Sans is completely unaffected by their insult; if anything, he finds it amusing. "yeah, yeah, we've all heard that 'i'm from frisk's soul' thing. but we need to  _know."_

Papyrus decides to take a seat beside them on the floor, despite how uncomfortable it must be for him, and guilt churns in their gut when they think about just how horribly they'd killed him. How awful they'd thought of him just minutes earlier—after all of that, he still is willing to sit beside them. "PLEASE, TAKE YOUR TIME," he says reassuringly. "THE STORM IS NOT GOING ANYWHERE!"

Chara wonders if Frisk is okay, without them. They wonder when they'll wake—

The faster they get this over with, the faster they can go back.

"No one's gonna believe me if I tell you," they whisper into their arms, red eyes locked on Undyne. "You'll all just call me a crazy liar and shit like that; I don't exist anymore, anyways. It's not like you're gonna get anything good out've me if I tell you, so—so what's the  _point?"_

Undyne looks like she wants to say something, but Sans stops her with a wave of his hand. Her expression twists in annoyance but, surprisingly, she stays silent and allows him to speak instead. "fine. lemme try, then. frisk … fell," he begins, waiting for Chara's nod of confirmation, "and you got caught on their soul, 'nd've been there since."

They snort. "Uh-huh; wow, wow just repeated everything we already knew. You're such a  _genius."_

**"Why Frisk?"** They freeze, their gaze breaking away from Undyne to Sans for the first time since they'd entered the room, and their mouth is suddenly dry. "what makes them so special. outta the six other kids that fell down, why's frisk the only one you got stuck on?"

Chara has to take a moment to think over the question, their stomach growing tight with discomfort as they attempt to figure it out. What Sans says is true; up until Frisk fell on their grave, they hadn't woken since their death. It had to do with Frisk's SOUL, somehow—especially considering the way it had split for them—but Chara could not, for the life of them, understand why.

Perhaps it was their DETERMINATION; how, despite how close Frisk came to giving up, to how little they cared about living, they never lost it. They always had  _something_  to keep them DETERMINED and keep them going. But Frisk couldn't have been the only child, out of all seven since Chara, to have DETERMINATION; it just wasn't possible. Otherwise, they wouldn't have made it anywhere in the Underground. They would've died, and stayed dead, and their SOUL left for the taking.

Chara takes a deep breath in preparation for what they're about to say, and prays that Frisk doesn't resent them for it. "I dunno about the others; I … I didn't wake up until Frisk fell. I'd been a—asleep? Asleep, I guess, I dunno what I'd call it, but I'd been stuck in there for so long. And then they fell on the flowers, and suddenly—suddenly I could  _feel_ again; I didn't have a body, but Frisk could hear me and I could talk, and—" they cut themselves off suddenly, realizing just how close they'd come to revealing too much, "anyways. Frisk … didn't have a nice home. Their parents were pieces of shit, their school was awful, the neighbors were all horrible. They … they had so many problems. They were so  _alone,_ but they thought it was okay. They thought it was  _all okay_."

"And I dunno if that's why I woke up, or if it's because of something else, but—but they fell down here, to a place where everyone claims man-eating monsters live." They clench their hands into fists, practically glaring a hole through Sans' skull at this point. "Their own mother—she called them a mistake. A  _monster_. Something demonic and horrific and a spawn of the devil, and—and then Frisk fell down, and everyone else; the actual monsters, they told them the same thing. If it wasn't for me, then they'd—they'd—"

Chara can't bring themselves to finish that sentence. 

Without them around, Frisk would've lost their DETERMINATION long ago; perhaps as far back as in the ruins. They would've been just one more dead child of Mount Ebott, forgotten about by everyone else. Perhaps their SOUL would've been harvested, and the barrier would've been broken—or, maybe, their SOUL would've been too weak to be of any use. 

"So, that's where I'm from," they finish angrily, hoping it hides what they actually feel. "I'm the one who kept them going while you—you guys hurt them, and beat them, and acted like they  _deserved_ all this shit, because they're human. And humans are bad, aren't they?" They asked sardonically, a twisted grin full of teeth spreading across their face. "But even with me, they just got worse. And worse, and worse—and now, you guys fucked them up so  _bad_ that they think they're a monster. An actual demon spawn—a-a rotten and horrible thing, and it's all your  _fault."_

It's only until the words have spilled out that Chara realizes they not only answered the question, but also included so many extra details that the monsters in front of them have no right to know. "But why's that matter?" They ask, their tone flat compared to the emotionally fueled one from earlier, "we're just selfish humans. Right? Who cares about Frisk—who cares about anyone who falls down here?"

Undyne looks profoundly uncomfortable now and Sans' eyes have gone black. Beside them, Papyrus struggles as to whether or not he should offer them any form of comfort but, in the end, decides that his presence is all Chara would be willing to accept. "So, there's your answer," they finally finish, knowing full well that they hadn't done a very good job of answering Sans' question. "'Guess Frisk needed me, and I needed Frisk. And since I don't have a soul anymore, I had to use Frisk's."

Surprising enough, Undyne is the first one who can shake her disconcert off and speak. " … So you don't have your own SOUL? Where'd it go, then? If you lost it, then—"

"Then there'd be no need for one more, right?" Chara finishes. "Who cares? It was a mistake, anyways. I made a mistake and—"  _buttercups, swollen throat, Asriel's blood ; Asriel fight, fight, fight, stop, stop you can't let them hurt you please please plEASE_ "—it's my own failure. I screwed up; I guess you could say this whole thing's my fault."

"That—"

"I  _don't care!"_ They finally scream, and it's only Papyrus' hand that stops their own, already injured, fist from hitting the ground. "I don't care what you understand—for all I care, you can go rot in hell where  _you belong._ You—you hurt—" Chara cuts themselves off with another scream and wretches their hand away from Papyrus, fisting the fabric of their shirt where their heart would sit. "I  _h-hate you._  Why did you have to—why did—" they're crying  _again,_ the sensation so foreign after a century of nothing. "W-Why couldn't you just—why—why—"

The question won't come out,  _can't come out_ because it hasn't happened in this world, in this timeline, so the words just catch in their throat and choke them as they hiccup and sob like a child. Papyrus soothes them to the best of their ability but Chara shoves him away, slamming their hands into their brow angrily. 

They wish they'd never done it.

They wish that each memory wasn't accompanied by a searing pain that leaves them wailing and begging, internally or externally, for mercy; wish that they couldn't hear the wind and feel the cold and dark embrace of death as a spear ripped them open from the inside. Everything hurts, but there are no woulds; but the Devil herself  _is_ the wound and she could turn, she could turn and they would die again and  _Frisk couldn't deal with that—_

"H-Hey," Undyne stammers, the rough and tough bravado that she'd carried since she entered the house all but evaporated at this point, "hey, uh—um, kid? Chara? Uh, can I call you Chara?" There's no response, and she shares a look with Sans who just looks over at the closed door. She gets the feeling he knew this was going to happen, but whether it was to this extent or not, she's unsure. "I'll, uh … just … call you it anyways. Chara, I'm not … really sure what I did. Hell, I've never  _met_ either of you, and—well, I'll admit we didn't have the  _best_ of meetings …" She'd basically backed the two of them into a corner and nearly attacked them with green magic, after all, "uh—human or not, you  _are_ just a kid. Hell, you're still in  _stripes;_ it'd be like bullying a TODDLER."

This Undyne is so different to the one that Chara has built in their head that they all but freeze in place, their fingers twisting together in a tight grip as they squint against the bright lights of the room once more. They wish it was darker. Everything is still so sensitive.

"SEE? IT'S AS I'VE TOLD YOU; THERE IS NO REASON TO BE AFRAID OF UNDYNE!" Papyrus consoles, but even with those words he knows that there's more that needs to be done to fix their phobia than a couple words. "YES, SHE IS A BIG AND SCARY FISH LADY, BUT SHE IS A SOFTY UNDER IT ALL—"

_"HEY!"_  Undyne roars back, jumping to her feet, "Who's the softy in here you big wimp!? You're the one that BEFRIENDED the human instead of CAPTURING IT!" Chara stiffens at the yelling, but the lack of anger in her voice is just enough to keep them tethered down; if anything, it feels more like playful banter between the fish and skeleton. "After all, WHO KEEPS WINNING THE COOK OFFS?!!!"

"hey, uh," Sans starts, "ya' might wanna tone it down a bit, there's—"

As if on cue, the door to the room creaks open almost hesitantly, and a small figure takes a tentative step forward, taking in the occupants of the room. With only a loose pair of pajamas and messy hair, they look so, so much more fragile than they had in the cave. "Frisk—!" Chara starts in relief, immediately drawing their attention to them, but once their gaze has lifted, it lands on Undyne—

And they  _scream._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought, please. Especially after this chapter, because I'm anxious as hell about this whole thing. 
> 
> And thanks for sticking with me, everyone. The support you all give me helps far more than you could ever imagine.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back. It's been awhile. Some personal stuff came up, and then school ate me alive. This chapter was also a bit hard to write; really, really difficult honestly. I've been deeply unsatisfied with my writing as of late. But I can't wallow. 
> 
> On a happier note, this fic got its first fanart!! It's by Iluvfanfic, and here's the link https://www.deviantart.com/catcrazie/art/Friskyboo-788821824. Please go take a look at it! And thanks again for the drawing <3
> 
> I hope everyone's been alright. Sorry this isn't the longest or most interesting chapter, but I think (hope) that it's better than nothing?

_ The things I want forgotten, are the ones that will always be in mind; _

_ They can never be forgotten. _

_ The path to heaven starts at the bottom of hell. _

_ - _

Hell breaks out in an instant. Chara all but jumps to their feet, only for their still clumsy legs to send them stumbling right into Frisk, which knocks the both of them to the ground. Papyrus leaps to his feet as well, while Sans keeps Undyne behind him, a nd then as soon as the screaming has started, it’s ended. Such an an abrupt and shrill sound, yet so deep and terrified; it’s unlike anything Undyne has heard, especially from a child—and it was because of her.

What exactly had she done to scare this strange child so badly?

Why did it feel like she was missing something so _huge_?

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Chara quickly whispers, still flattening Frisk beneath them. The smaller child gasps for air, their hands scrambling to cover their eyes while also grab hold of Chara instead, so they compromise by placing their own hands over Frisk’s eyes so they can hold on tight. “S-See? See, it’s okay. We’re—you’re gonna be fine. It’s okay.”

Frisk heaves and struggles and Chara helps them sit up, making sure to keep their hands covering their eyes as much as possible. One of Frisk’s hands ones cover theirs, while the other clasps over their mouth, as if to keep any kind of sound from escaping; like the silence could make them invisible and hidden.

The three monsters watch silently as the scene unfolds, with Frisk’s trembles only increasing as they hesitantly lean into Chara, as if they expect them to disappear. If they’re speaking, none of them can hear it, but Chara continues to mumble random nonsense, all the while keeping their hands over Frisk’s eyes. It's an odd scene, but no one has the will to interrupt something that appears so important.  So vital.

Frisk shudders and hiccups, the action leaving them clutching at their mouth even tighter, as if the sound would bring down Hell on their shoulders, and the two children freeze. But when nothing happens, Frisk leans further into Chara’s shoulder and shakes their head—a silent conversation that only the two can hear and, if the way Chara tenses is any clue, it can't be anything good that's been said.

Undyne feels filthy, as if she has no right to be observing something like this between these two children. Children who she, somehow, traumatized beyond belief without ever meeting them—except, as much as she can claim and prove that she's never met these children before, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of her head; something is missing.

Something that leaves her  _ torn _  between fight and flight mode.

“ … This … isn’t a dream, is it?” Frisk’s soft voice finally breaks the tense silence, a heavy and defeated weight hanging off each word, and the monsters have to strain to even hear. “We’re … going to—”

“No we aren’t!” Chara hisses back, before they can finish that sentence. “We’re gonna be okay—Papyrus and—and … and Sans, and me. We’re gonna keep Her away. The Devil won’t hurt us.”

Frisk says nothing, but Chara can feel their eyelashes fluttering against the palm of their hands and the wetness of their cheeks. “Please don’t leave me,” they whisper, and with the flesh of their palm to muffle the sound no one but Chara can hear their desperate plea. “I’m sorry I let us be caught, I-I’m sorry Chara—”

“Shut up!” They whisper back, but there’s absolutely no trace of their malice from earlier. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? We’re fine—it’s all okay. See? You can actually—” one of their fingers pokes at the thin skin around Frisk’s eye, “you can feel me. I’m real and now I can really protect you.”

Frisk says nothing, though their grip on Chara's hand tightens, as if they can barely believe their words. Undyne is struck, suddenly, by how small the child actually is—while carrying their limp form out of the cave and back to Snowdin, she hadn't really taken notice, and despite Papyrus' earlier words it hadn't registered until now—

They're so small. So fragile looking, like the wind could blow them away, and any remaining urge to capture either of the children and take their SOULs evaporates in an instant. Papyrus is, unsurprisingly, the first one to break the silence, going to kneel at their side. "WHY ARE YOU COVERING YOUR EYES?" He asks curiously, and if it's even possible Frisk stills even more. "DID YOU SEE SOMETHING SCARY?"

"Papyrus—" Chara starts, desperate to draw the conversation away from the sensitive topic, only to be interrupted; by Frisk.

"She's going to take them," they whisper, and somehow panic manages to weasel itself into what is, otherwise, an almost perfect and emotionless tone, "the Devil will—s-she will—"

"It's okay," Chara soothes, "you don't—none of them, you don't owe anyone an answer; you can keep silent, it's okay—"

Their palm muffles what may just be a sob, shoulders curling inwards and further into Chara. "I don't want to," they hiccup. "Not—not again. No more, it hurts. It  _hurts_." The fact that Frisk has fallen into such heavy repetition tells more about their mental state than anything else; Frisk never stuttered. Not if they could avoid it.

Chara knows that their parents had hated it, and suddenly they're so angry—it's back in a flash and they're struck with the overwhelming urge to destroy. Destroy Undyne, destroy Sans, destroy Frisk's shitty parents and—

Papyrus is kind enough—and knows enough—to stop his questions, as curious as he may be, and it's a small light in what is otherwise a cloak of anger and hatred—and it's as if Frisk can just tell because almost immediately their sobs have stopped, even if their shoulders continue to shudder and lungs struggle for air and it—

"I'm sorry," Chara whispers, blinking back tears. Their hatred isn't gone; it's never gone. The world is rotten and cruel and for what has to be the millionth time, they wish they'd never done it. Never offered to help Frisk wipe out the underground, never eaten the flowers, never laughed in the face of tragedy because although that was survival, they weren't meant to survive.

Their hatred never leaves, because it's always— _ always _  directed to themselves.

"alright," Sans says finally, sighing as he crosses the short distance between the three of them and where he'd been standing, "let's get'cha up."

Chara hisses out an angry, "Fuck off," but it doesn't stop him. "Don't touch them, don't you—"

"didn't i just tell ya' that none've us—no one," he looks at Undyne, whose discomfort has bled into her expression and posture, "is gonna hurt you two?"

They grind their teeth together but say nothing, and when Papyrus moves over to make room for Sans to kneel down Chara breathes out shakily and forces their anger back in. Not now—not with Frisk. They can't hurt them anymore than they already have. "You have to cover their eyes," they mutter, because, as much as they hate it, sitting on the hard floor isn't exactly comfortable. Chara's almost positive that Frisk is just as, if not more, uncomfortable than they are, but since they'd never voice it, Chara will instead. "Frisk, we're gonna—" the grip tightens even more, as much a display of distress that Frisk can bring themselves to show, "we gotta get up, okay? So I'll cover you; I'll stand in front, so that you can do it."

Frisk nods, because they have no other choice.

Despite their words, it ends up being Sans who has to help the both of them up, though Chara keeps their word and places themselves at an angle that completely hides Frisk's face from Undyne, while also allowing them to glare—and there's so much hatred and fear that it doesn't even occur to the woman to glare back.

"'s ok," Sans reassures, patting their back lightly once they've got their eyes covered again. "let's get'cha onto the couch."

And that—

That is enough to cause them to reel back, desperate and frantic to get away, and Chara yelps as the sudden movement upsets their already fragile balance and sends them right back to the floor. Sans is able to keep a strong enough hold of Frisk to prevent them from falling, but evidently even the act of doing so is difficult. "kid, stop—"

"I don't wanna," they sob, falling back into the childish speech pattern that he'd only heard when they were in extreme distress, "please—please, no—not again, not again …"

“it—it, uh,” Sans can feel sweat beginning to form, “papyrus can sit with you. right in the middle; we just gotta get you settled down somewhere.”

“YES!” Papyrus agrees, “I WILL SIT IN THE MIDDLE AND … MEDIATE.”

Frisk doesn’t know what that means, but even with their hands clasped so hard and desperately against their eyes then can still feel it. Spears, spears and blood and  _it_   _hurts, no more—_

They give in and allow Papyrus to lead them over, while Sans offers a hand to Chara who simply slaps it away and forces themselves up on unsteady feet, following after Frisk and plopping down on the ground right in front of them. “It’s okay,” they repeat. “It’s okay; I’m not gonna let anything happen.” It’s an empty promise, but one that Chara intends to at the very least try and accomplish. “I—I have a body now, I can help. I can really help now, Frisk.”

They peak out through a sliver of fingers, brown barely meeting red, and Chara nods. Frisk forces themselves still, sinking into the couch until they’ve all but sunk into it, and Sans takes up his place against the wall. There’s a tense, almost awkward silence, that’s finally broken by, "How did …" it's not perfect, but Frisk has all but drained the emotions from their voice, "we get here …?" Asking questions still feels dirty, but with Chara here, actually  _ here _ , it's not as terrifying as it may have once been.

"you went out in the storm," Sans starts, "and broke your arm. undyne here's the one who found you and brought you two back."

Frisk looks down at Chara quizzically. "Your—um … your soul." They don't know how to word this, how to tell Frisk that they'd accidentally split their SOUL trying to protect the both of them, and it takes a few seconds to gather their thoughts. "I wanted to protect you, but you were hurt. You couldn't even move, and I just—I couldn't  _ stand back _ ." They clench their hands together before crossing their arms and admitting, "And when I tried, it— … it split your SOUL. In half."

They're silent for a moment, their hands slowly dropping away from their face so they can idly reach for one of Chara's, who meets them halfway. "… Is your SOUL alright?"

"Is—is  _ my  _ SOUL alright?" Chara repeats, flabbergasted by the question, "Frisk, this is—this is  _ yours.  _ Your SOUL is the one that's important."

Frisk shakes their head. "You're good," they mumble, gaze flickering down to their lap. "So now that you have a SOUL, half of … mine," they hesitate with the word, but continue regardless, "are you alright?"

Frisk knows they're a bad person, and they know exactly what the state of SOUL is even if they haven't checked it in awhile. So the idea of Chara—someone so much better, so much  _ kinder, _  being stuck with something so vile and destroyed is enough to fuel the guilt that already rests on their shoulders. If anything, they'd have rather given away their entire SOUL; not just half. Chara deserves more, deserves  _ better _  and—

"I'm sorry," they say, before the other child can even begin to reply. "I … I made a mistake. I'm sorry."

From his spot against the wall Sans shrugs. "nothin' to really apologize for; haven't i told ya? don't waste your apologies."

"YES, MY BROTHER IS RIGHT! AND I AM SURE … THAT THE SPLITTING OF YOUR SOUL WAS NOT INTENTIONAL, EITHER. SO PLEASE DO NOT BLAME YOURSELF FOR THAT."

Frisk doesn't respond. Instead, they pull their legs up onto the couch and curl into the side. There's no point in arguing; they will always be overruled, their words will never hold as much weight or worth as anyone else's may. They wish the couch was bigger; they wish Chara could sit, too, instead of on the ground.

They curl in further and tilt their head towards the empty space between them and Papyrus, and Chara hesitates for a moment before crawling into the spot. It's a bit of a tight fit, but when Frisk adjusts so that they're instead leaning up against Chara it becomes far easier. Chara reaches out to take Frisk's hand and grasp it tightly. "I'm here."

Undyne's silence is finally broken, but much of the gusto from earlier has evaporated. "So … uh, despite all of this, I still kind of need an explanation about how—" she makes a vague motion in the children's direction that neither of them see, "—this happened."

"WELL—"

"it was my decision," Sans answers easily. "took 'em on on for a friend; she said they needed more help then she could really give the kid." Although he doesn't voice it, it's obvious that the woman had been right in that assessment, especially now. "not sure why she really picked me, but." He shrugs. "why not."

Undyne's brow furrows. "A friend? What sort of friend do you have that harbors humans? Much less—" she cuts herself off there. Frisk doesn't so much as move, their eyes locked on a specific spot on the floor, and Chara squeezes their hand tighter. "Anyways, besides that; it never even once occurred to you to … I don't know,  _ capture  _ them?"

It's those words that draw a fearful sound from Frisk's throat, despite their attempts to keep silent, and they quickly clap their hand over their mouth in hopes of muffling it. "Like we would've let him," Chara bites back, anger boiling the blood in their veins. "I won't let them— _ you, _ " they spit the word out, "hurt them. If you try—"

"'aight," Sans cuts them off, "we get the message. either way, even if we had, i'm sure you saw the state of their SOUL before it uh … ripped in half." Undyne leans back into the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. "not exactly in good condition for harvestin', much less breaking a barrier with."

Chara has to resist the urge to swear. To kick and lash out, because they  _ hate him so much,  _ hate Undyne, hate the people who'd hurt Frisk and put their own wants before the well being of Frisk's; it wasn't fair. No one cared about them; no one cared about the too small child who couldn't meet anyone's eyes and feared retaliation for every action, all because they're a human. Just because they'd been born at the wrong place, as the wrong person, to the wrong  _ people; _  because of their very existence.

They want to destroy the world and everyone in it.

" … Speaking of which, how exactly did that happen?" Undyne questions, almost incredulously. "How could someone's SOUL hold up in such a—a  _ damaged  _ state? To exist, much less walk around—"

Sans sighs and shrugs. "dunno. never could figure it out." The pinpricks flicker over to Chara, who meets them with a glare. "you happen't know anything 'bout that?"

"Because of me," they say coldly. "Because you guys—you tore them apart, and I held them together. You don't care, none of you; none of you care."

"Chara—"

They shake their head. "No. Frisk—you  _ know  _ this is their fault; you know it's  _ her fault."  _ Undyne shifts uncomfortably again. "And this—this whole fake kindness shit you've been throwing around, just  _ stop.  _ If not for that promise you made, you would've left us to rot, wouldn't you?" They offer an angry grin to Sans, tilting their head with the words. "You would've let Frisk die again. Maybe the same way they did the first time—"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY 'AGAIN' AND 'FIRST TIME'?" Papyrus interrupts, and it's only then that Chara realizes that, in their anger, they'd let too much slip. "THIS IS THE FIRST TIME WE HAVE MET … IS IT NOT? DID I FORGET OUR FIRST MEETING—DID I SNUB YOUR OFFERS OF FRIENDSHIP ON ACCIDENT!?" He asks in horror, as if the very thought disturbs them. "HOW COULD I FORGET THAT!"

Sans is dead silent and neither of the children dare speak. "Maybe … this isn't the best time," Undyne proposes, despite the nagging in the back of her head and the desire— _ urge  _ to force an answer out of them, whether it leads to more damage or not. "We've got more than enough to worry about with adding that on top."

"That's probably the smartest thing you've ever said," Chara quips back, clenching their free hand into a fist. "At least now I know you can do something except kill."

"HEY!"

"alright," Sans interrupts. "that's  **enough.** i gave you your answer, undyne; i took frisk in and kept 'em here because i made a promise to help and keep them safe. so that's what i've  _ done  _ and whether you like it or not, you're not harvesting either of their SOULs."

"Tch …" She angrily taps her fingers against the muscles of her bicep. "Make sure they never come into Waterfall unattended, then."

Chara stiffens and feels Frisk do the same, but somehow manage a, "Is that a threat?" Despite the way they're trembling. "B-Because—if it is, then—"

"It's not a threat," Undyne replies sharply, "just a warning. The people of Snowdin think you're one of us and aren't willing to hurt you—but the ones in Waterfall aren't the same. Some of them aren't all that nice, and  _ neither _  of you two squirts are gonna survive out there on your own."

They grit their teeth, but say nothing because as as much as they hate it, it's the truth. Without the LV and HP, as well as their drive from the last run, they really  _ do  _ stand no chance.

It doesn't mean they have to like it, though.

"Hell—heck," she corrects herself, "I'm surprised you were even willing to leave Snowdin in the first place, much less during such a heavy storm; those teenagers aren't very nice."

Chara goes to reply, but Frisk beats them to it. "I had to check on a … friend." They close their eyes tiredly, despite the fact that they've only just woken up. "But I couldn't find him, and when I was coming back, someone pushed me. … I fell."

"PUSHED YOU?" Papyrus questions. "WHO WOULD DO SUCH A THING?"

Frisk shakes their head. Chara answers, "No clue. It just popped out of the forest after some other monster with decorated antlers got all pissed at us. It ran away after seeing us fall." The last part is laced with anger and hatred. "It knew exactly what it was doing when it pushed us; yet it left us there." There's a short pause, before Chara admits, "Before all this, I thought monsters could be good. I thought that they were  _ better  _ than humans but instead—" they hiss out a breath, "instead, you're just as bad."

"You can't just SAY THAT!" Undyne snaps, "Generalizing all of us based off a select few—"

"Yet that's what you do to us humans," Chara shoots back. "You hate humans because a couple trapped you underground a couple thousand years ago and because one got—" the words catch in their throat, the feeling of swelling and pain as the buttercups swell up and make breathing impossible so they choke and struggle until—

"It's alright," Frisk says softly. "The Dev—s-she … she's right." They blink a few times, wanting nothing more than to go back in the room and sleep forever. "Humans … we're bad. You're good, Chara," they point out, "but me, others—we're just … as horrible as everyone thinks." They can't bare to meet anyone's eyes, and the next words that come out are barely above a whisper. "And I'm the example they get … so of course they would think that. I'm bad—I'm horrible. So it makes sense, since I'm their only example."

The silence that follows could rival the dead. "WHY DO YOU SPEAK SO CRUELLY OF YOURSELF?" Papyrus is the first one to break it but evidently he's disturbed despite the question. "I HAVE NEVER SEEN YOU SO MUCH AS HURT A FLY, AND YOU KNIT VERY WELL. YOU ARE A VERY KIND HUMAN, AS WELL AS MY FRIEND … SO WHY DO YOU SAY SUCH AWFUL THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF?"

Frisk shakes their head, but there's a weariness to the motion and a hopeless tone to their voice. "It's … just the truth. Because I'm bad, because was born bad. … I hurt Chara, and I wasn't strong enough to do better. I—let us … let us—" Their grip on Chara's hand is so tight that it aches, but all Chara does is squeeze back, "I-I let us get hurt so bad, s-so many times. Because—all because … I was too weak; if I was stronger, then it—w-we—"

Their free hand flies up to their face to hide their eyes, pulling themselves into so tight of a ball that it has to hurt, but all Chara can do is lean their head against Frisk's and stop themselves from lashing out; because now is not the time for anger. No matter how it burns in their throat and badly they want to scream, Frisk needs them. Frisk needs stability, so that's what Chara will offer.

" … I don't really have much room to speak, honestly," Undyne starts, and Frisk somehow manages to stiffen even more at the sound of her voice. "But uh—Frisk  …? Yeah. Frisk; it's your actions that make you a bad monster—person," she corrects herself, "but no one's really … born bad. Even humans," she begrudgingly admits.

It's the worst thing she could have said, because it somehow manages to break the weak yet solid hold Frisk had on their emotions and a panicked and agonized sob escapes their throat. "It—it just m-makes me worse," they manage and, although their voice is wet their eyes are dry. "M-Monsters—"

Their eyes, their eyes  _ their eyes hurt, stop stop please stop, I'm sorry, I'm sorry it hurts— _

"Monsters l-like me … don't des-deserve  _ m-mercy." _

Undyne is hit, suddenly, for some reason, by a pit of disgust at those words; it reaches far inside, down to her SOUL, and pushes forth something that is too muddy and incomprehensible to make out. Something that sets her on edge and leaves her magic churning and lit, just as it would be before battle and—

It takes a conscious effort to keep herself reigned in. The words, so awful and succinct, leaves something horrible in its place.

"WELL. I DON'T KNOW WHO SAID  _ THAT, _ " PAPYRUS HUFFS, "BUT THEY ARE COMPLETELY WRONG. COMPLETELY AND ABSOLUTELY WRONG—WHY! TELL ME WHO IT IS, AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL TEACH THEM A LESSON."

And Chara—

Chara  _ laughs.  _ Not just a chuckle or giggle but full blown, gut wrenching laughter that leaves them all but doubled over. It's like they've heard the funniest thing in the world, except the sound is laced with disgust. "Hah—haha," they press their free hand to their cheek, both hating and reveling in the grin that's stretched across their face. The  _ irony _  of it all. "Do you  _ really  _ wanna know, Papyrus?" They ask, once their laughter is back under control, but the smile doesn't disappear. "Do you really?"

"chara—"

"Shut up, trashbag," they snap. "No one remembers except us, so who cares, right? It's not like they'll have to sleep with it in their heads and feel it over, and over, and over again until it's just—" They abruptly pause, as if the word they'd been going for escaped right off their tongue. "Just … words. Not memories."

They aren't smiling anymore and Papyrus spares a glance between his brother and Chara before saying, "THERE IS SOMETHING YOU TWO ARE HIDING FROM US."

Sans' grin tightens, but Chara just leans against Frisk, who has finally let up on their death grip of Chara's hand. "bro … papyrus," he starts, "it's not—we ain't hiding it, it's just that—"

"You don't remember," they cut off. "That's what he's trying to say; no one but us can remember. So why bother telling you something that won't make any sense?" The mirth is gone and, now, Chara's voice is similar in tone to Frisk's. "… So really, Papyrus, do you want to know? Even if it'll make you think differently of everyone? Of me, and Frisk, and Sans, and—" they hiss out, "and  _ her." _

"IF IT HAS SUCH A PROFOUND EFFECT ON YOU BOTH, THEN YES," he replies firmly. "EVEN IF IT DOES NOT MAKE SENSE, I'M SURE THAT WHATEVER HAPPENED … EVERYONE HAD THEIR REASON. EVERYONE CAN BE GOOD, EVEN IF THEY HAVE DONE BAD THINGS, AND NO ONE IN HERE IS AN EXCEPTION TO THAT."

Chara pauses. Even faced with something that could ruin his perception of his family and friend, Papyrus is still willing to stand by his morals, and it shocks them to the core. "You—"

"i  _ really  _ don't think that's—"

"Listen," Undyne interrupts, the strange outburst of anger and pure magic that had hit her firmly back in control, "I don't really understand what's going on. Honestly, I have no damn _  CLUE _ . But if it's causing so many problems for you two … just, get it out already. Bottling up these things won't get you anywhere."

Chara mumbles, "So it's not a fluke. You really are capable of being something other than a killer." Unlike their earlier words, which had been laced in malice and hatred, these are almost empty. Lost, confused,  _ uneasy.  _ "So why'd you have to do it?"

"D-Do it?" The woman repeats, taken off guard. "Do WHAT?"

Chara trembles, the anger that had been holding back their fear dissipating in an instant and leaving them little more than a shaking, terrified mess of a child. It feels like they're back again, dodging spears and screaming when one pierces their leg, their arm, their throat; as they're disemboweled and tortured and—

This time, Chara's the one who's crying; the world has crashed down on their shoulders and their hatred has left them. Their hatred, which had always been a facade and mask to protect themselves—it's left them, and in its wake is  _just_ _ them.  _ A scared child; a hurt and terrified, traumatized child who'd suffered too much for someone their age, much less anyone's life time.

"Chara …" Frisk soothes, "it's alright. I'm sorry."

They shake their head. "Frisk—y-you  _ still  _ don't get it. This, it's—i-it's not your fault _.  _ You—you did what I said, y-you listened to me. You listened to my s-stupid and dumb idea. If you hadn't—" they swallow back tears, "t-this wouldn't have  _ h-happened." _

"If I had just been stronger—"

_ "Shut UP!"  _ They scream, yanking their hand away from Frisk's so they can yank at their hair desperately. "Shut up, shut up,  _ shut up!" _

Frisk has no idea how to respond; the only time they've seen their friend so unhinged and angry had been during their last run, when Papyrus' dust was still in the air. When the dog wouldn't stop barking at them. When they—

When emotions had taken over.

Frisk wishes they could continue suppressing them, for Chara. They'd taken it all; gladly. For Chara, Frisk would do anything—no matter the pain, no matter the suffering and agony it brought upon them, Frisk would do anything to protect Chara.  _For Chara_. But now, they can't do anything. They can't take the emotions and make them something more reasonable. They can't teach Chara how, because  _ they  _ don't know how; it's years upon years of conditioning. Not something that can be taught overnight, or even in a week.

So instead, they just whisper a weak, "It'll be alright."

Chara snaps then, abruptly lunging off the couch and dragging Frisk along with them. The child stumbles slightly, but before anyone can protest the door to their room is already hit the wall. "Fuck  _ off,"  _ is all they say before the door is slammed shut so hard it seems to shake the entire room. There's the telltale sound of the lock clicking into place, and in the children's wake there's an uncomfortable silence.

"SANS." Said skeleton sighs heavily. "WHAT IS GOING ON?"

"I'd like to know as well," Undyne says, her arms still crossed over her chest, but her grip is tighter than it usually would be. "What the  _ hell  _ just happened?"

Sans sighs again, throwing his hands up in a 'what-can-you-do' fashion. "if you're askin' about that whole debacle, dunno. it's their tale to tell, anyways."

"They're acting as if we've met," she mutters, "but I can't even recall seeing either of those two kids anywhere in the Underground. Yet they're—" she stumbles over the word, " _ terrified _  of me, and not in the good 'Oooh it's Undyne, she could beat Aaron in an arm wrestling contest and beat up all the adults!' kind of way." She exaggerates her tone, most likely quoting something said to her by some kid. "Or the 'Oh crap, she's gonna tell my parents!"

"That's … fear. Actual, real terror," Undyne finishes. "So I kinda want to know  _ why, _  especially when I've never met EITHER OF THEM!"

"i'm gonna hazard a guess and say your reputation isn't enough," Sans attempts. She glares in response. "like i said … not really my tale to tell. not that i know about—" he motions towards the locked door, "that whole thing, anyways. but the rest." He pauses. "well. it's a bit've a long story. kinda confusing, weird, not really explainable by science … etc. etc."

“I DON’T CARE,” Papyrus replies firmly. “ANYTHING THAT IS THEIR BUSINESS … PLEASE DO NOT TELL US. BUT EVERYTHING ELSE.”

Sans stares at the two of them for a long few seconds before he scoffs, scuffing his slipper against the ground. “fine.”

* * *

“I don’t get it, I don’t  _ GET IT!”  _ Frisk watches anxiously as Chara paces the room, their hands anywhere but their side. “Why? Why is she—how can she be like this? H-How isn’t she—she—”

“She hurt us,” Frisk agrees, tentatively moving to take Chara’s hand in theirs. It stops their pacing and they continue with, “s-she … she t-tortured us, and— … and she liked it.” They squeeze for a second before forcing those emotions away and attempting to build back up their walls. “The Devil is cruel, and … she loves to hurt.”

“But she  _ doesn’t.  _ Not here,” Chara whispers. They collapse down on the bed and Frisk follows suit, holding on the entire time. “Not  _ now.  _ Now she’s—she’s … s-she’s all different. Loud and brash, but not cruel; not—not the Devil. Just Undyne.”

Frisk closes their eyes tiredly. They wish they could sleep forever. It sounds so appealing. And now, with Chara holding half their SOUL, now; if they died, then Chara could have it all. “Chara?” They ask. “Can … I see your arms?”

They blink at the sudden request, but roll up the sleeves of their sweater regardless. Frisk breathes out in relief at the sight of their smooth, undamaged skin. “ … I’m glad. None of—” they rub their own arm, “these … my scars got transferred to you.”

“Do you … do you still wanna do it?” Chara asks, rolling up the sleeve of Frisk’s arm. The difference is startling, even if some of the worst scars from their last run are gone. “Cut yourself, I mean. Since I have a body now, I—I can’t help like I did before.”

Frisk watches Chara trace the scars silently. “I always want to,” they admit. “ … When I woke up and you weren’t here, I—” they blink a few times. “I was so scared. I wanted to then. I … needed to. But the knife is gone, so I couldn’t.”

The knife is still in the cave, where Undyne had tossed it away. Frisk is tempted to leave once more and make the trip back, if only to retrieve the item. The brothers would notice if they took one of theirs, and they lack the funds to go buy one from the store. “Frisk,” Chara says hesitantly, “Sans. He—he … knows.” They blink. “About it. He healed the ones on your legs.”

And then, it’s like the world hits them. A wave of disgust and anger, so strong and potent that it  _ has to be Chara’s,  _ except  Chara has a body now. Chara can’t influence them anymore. Chara’s emotions can’t be a coverup for their own anymore, and—

“Oh.” Is all they manage, before storing the emotions back where they belong. “ … You told him?”

They fidget uncomfortably. “I had to,” they say. “He was healing your wounds, and I couldn’t just— _ leave  _ you injured! There was so much blood, and—a-and you were so pale. I thought you were dying, Frisk.” Chara blinks rapidly in an attempt to deter their tears. “I-I thought I k- _ killed  _ you.”

Frisk hesitates before moving forward and wrapping their arms around Chara’s slumped form. “I’m sorry,” they apologize. “I really failed us, this time.”

"It's not your  _fault_ ," Chara protests, leaning into the hug, "why do you always blame yourself? I—I'm the one who forced you to go out, a-and I'm the one who made us keep going and going and—" a hiccup cuts them off, and Frisk tightens their grip in response. "And then, i-if I'd just not  _done it_ and took the knife, then your SOUL wouldn't've split. It's my fault, but you always—a-always blame yourself."

Frisk says nothing, unsure what else they can say if not an apology. The thought of blaming Chara makes them feel filthy in a way nothing else can, but placing the blame on themself only upsets Chara in return, and—

"I'm sorry," they simply mumble. "I will do better."

Chara says nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really appreciate it if you could let me know what you liked/disliked about the chapter, or any thoughts you had. Thank you for reading! Also, if you guys are willing to answer; how did you find this fic? I've been curious for awhile.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's the price you pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a minute. I hope everyone's doing well, sorry it took me a bit to update. Some stuff went down IRL, and recovering from it has been a bitch and a half.
> 
> This chapter feels really weak to me. I don't know if it's just me, as a writer, being overly critical of my own writing, or if it actually *is* weak, but regardless I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit unsatisfying! It's an interlude chapter, which are always my kryptonite. There's also a lack of puns this chapter, it didn't really feel 'right' for Sans to be using them for most of the chapter. A few slip in at the end, regardless, but yeah.
> 
> Also, science; anything that sounds incorrect, let's just pretend magic makes a difference, because quantum physics and mechanics are not my strong suit, and since RESETs and LOADs don't actually exist, it means even more fumbling.

_ In my most distant memories, _

_ This silence once again thrusts upon me;  _ _ a punishment of solitude. _

_ How many times must I repent and atone to be pardoned? _

_ Who will be the one to bestow forgiveness? _

_ - _

As Frisk curls up into Chara’s side, they plot. The lights have been turned off, leaving the room basked in near total darkness, but neither of the children mind, and without the added stimuli of light Chara finds it far easier to think.

The addition of Undyne—not the Devil, but  _ Undyne _ —into the household that they could now call a home, no matter how temporary it may be, makes their skin crawl. It’s happened more frequently, now that they’ve been separated from Frisk; memories of their first death and the deaths they’d experienced in Frisk’s body, images and scenes of their friend tormented, all burned into their eyes; looping and repeating in a gruesome fashion that makes Chara wish they could just forget it all.

Frisk isn’t quite asleep, but it’s obvious they are dozing, and Chara wraps their arms further around their skinny shoulders and squeezes tight. Whatever discussion is going on behind that door, they don’t care. They hope that Sans is suffering with the weight of explaining resets—and yet, they fear what would happen if  _ Undyne  _ learned of their sins, of what they’d done in the last run …

They fear the Devil may return.

Chara squeezes tighter and all but hides their face in Frisk’s hair, prompting them to blink their eyes open. “Chara …?” They say softly, “What’s wrong?”

Chara breathes in shakily, shaking their head. “Don’t worry about it, Frisk,” they reply, hating the fact that they can feel their heart—a feeling that still is so foreign—beating so rapidly. “You can—just go to sleep, okay? I’ll stay here with you.”

Frisk hums softly. “You need to sleep too, Chara.”

“No,” they refute, shaking their head in emphasis. “I’ll be fine; you’ll sleep, and I’ll keep watch.”

Frisk is silent for a long moment before they squirm their way out of Chara’s hold and prop themselves up on their elbows. “I just woke up,” they murmur, “and I know that you are tired. … I know you’re hurting, too.”

Chara jerks, but before they can argue Frisk continues, “It’s … scary,” they agree, “when I first slept at Toriel’s, it was really scary. But …” they sigh, sitting up fully and dragging their knees to their chest, “you were there to watch over me. So I’ll watch over you, while you sleep.”

“That’s not—it’s not safe,” Chara says. “Un-Undyne is there, and—and Sans is telling them. What if she tries and attack again?” Their voice is so weak with fear, it’s as if it would crumble to pieces at any moment. “I’ve gotta protect you, because I promised I’d do it, a-and—”

Frisk swallows hard, though it isn’t visible through the darkness of the room. There are no shadows to hide in the crevices, behind the dresser or under the bed, simply because there is nothing for them to grow from. Frisk has never feared the darkness, but there’s something about the storm outside and the knowledge that their worst fear is less than twenty feet away that leaves them scared.

The emotion is festering and feeding upon them, growing in their gut and climbing up their throat, and—

Frisk forces it away, locks it in a box and locks that box somewhere else, taking a moment to breathe.  _ Emotions will get you hurt.  _ Tentatively, they reach for their last SAVE; not to LOAD, but simply to check if it’s there, and unlike the cave they can feel the tendrils licking at their fingertips.

If it goes bad, they can LOAD. Back to before they’d left Snowdin and fallen and been found by the monster and—

Back before Chara had a body.

Would a LOAD push them back into Frisk? Their SOUL had been ripped in half and, although Frisk was uncomfortably familiar with the feeling of their soul cracking and shattering with each death, this had felt … different.

“Sans said—the door has a lock,” they remind Chara, “and it can’t be broken down. And …” the words die on their tongue, and they frantically grasp for what has been lost, “i-it’s too dangerous outside. So … everything is going to be alright.” They reach a hand out, running their fingers across Chara’s cheek and savoring in the feeling of another human, their friend, being beside them. Even if it meant that Chara had to take half of their rotten, distorted SOUL, it was something. “Let me watch, so you can sleep. Nothing will happen, because I can LOAD.”

Chara blinks. “You—it’s back?”

Frisk nods, then verbalizes their answer. Chara’s brow furrows, and they go to sit up only for a small pair of hands to urge them back down; not nearly enough force to actually force them down, but rather a suggestion.

“Please, Chara,” they whisper, “please, I—I’m tired of being a burden.” They rest their chin on their knees, hating the sick and uncomfortable feelings that are coming through. “Please let me help …”

“… Okay,” they say, “okay, fine. I’ll let you, and I’ll try and sleep. But—I don’t really know if I even can, Frisk,” Chara admits. “I don’t remember what it’s like, or how it feels, or even what it’s supposed to—to work.  _How_  it’s supposed to work. How do I sleep?”

Frisk tilts their head curiously. “You just close your eyes,” they say, “and then you’ll fall asleep.”

Their brow furrows. “That easily?”

“Well … no, but eventually you will fall asleep.” Frisk crawls around Chara and slides off the bed, sitting down on the floor with their back to the bed. “If you’re tired enough, then you just need to lay down, and close your eyes. Then you’ll wake up again.”

Chara remembers the last time they’d lain down, how their chest was splitting open and their mouth foaming and cracking from buttercups, and although there are no buttercups to eat they can’t help but fear that, if they sleep, they might never wake up at all.

So instead, they roll on their back and ask, “Doesn’t the darkness bother you at all?” It’s more of an attempt to derail the conversation; pretend that they aren’t terrified to fall asleep. “Aren’t you scared at all?”

Although they can’t see it, Frisk blinks curiously at the question. “I used to hide under the stairs. It was dark and small, but not scary.” Chara remembers a similar conversation, back when they’d been hiding out in Waterfall after killing Papyrus. Yet another thing they’d done. Another thing they’d forced Frisk to do.

“I …” Chara blinks past tears, missing how easy it had been to restrain them while attached to Frisk’s SOUL. “Frisk, I-I’m scared. I’m really—I’m scared. What if I fall asleep, and then I never wake up again? Just like—like—”

“I … don’t know,” they admit. “But there isn’t anything can kill you like that.”

They shake their head, pressing the palms of their hands to their eyes as they yank at the brown strands. “I don’t wanna die,” they bleat. “Not again. Not anymore. I—I really don’t wanna die, Frisk.”

Frisk is unsure how to respond, just as they’d been earlier. Emotions are still so foreign, especially considering the amount that are pressing up against their insides and attempting to burst through the seams. So instead, they do what they always do; the only thing they know how to do.

“I’m sorry.” It doesn’t stop Chara’s tears, just like it hadn’t last time. “I’m sorry that … I’m so useless, Chara; I’m sorry I can’t help more.”

Although lost in their own mess of tears and panic, Chara has just enough left to beg, “Stop.” A hiccup escapes their throat, which turns into a wet cough, which then leaves them heaving for breath. “Please—p-please, just—just stop. Stop apologizing, stop saying—saying—” they sob. “It’s not your fault, a-and it never was, and it’s never  _ gonna  _ b-be your fault, because—”

Their ability to speak ends there, tears and shuddering gasps taking over in its place. Frisk trembles, hating the wetness they can feel behind their own eyes and the panic that  _ has to be Chara’s,  _ except Chara isn’t a part of them, anymore. Chara is there, in front of them, crying, and—

Frisk clasps a hand over their own mouth to stop their own shuddering sob from escaping. The panic is too strong, a reminder of how little they matter; how little they can do, and how much damage they have done. How many lives they have ruined; Chara’s life, their parent’s life; the list continues and continues until it all shatters.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” The words are soft and trembling, and yet they hold steady. “I don’t—I-I don’t … I can’t.”

By some miracle—or, perhaps, mistake—Chara doesn’t hear them; can’t hear through their own frantic and desperate gasps as the grips of a panic attack pulls at their consciousness. Frisk pulls their hand away from their mouth, yanks their sleeve up; digs their nails in as deep as they can into their forearm, and  _ drags them down as hard as they can.  _ It burns—the feeling of their skin shredding and struggling against their bitten down and broken nails, but it’s enough pain to push away their emotions.

“We’ll … we are going to be alright,” Frisk whispers, giving up on keeping watch as they pull their sleeve back down and pretend that the feeling of fabric rubbing up against the raw and angry skin isn’t agonizing. They crawl back into the bed, which is still too small to fit two children, especially in such a position as this. “I won’t let you die.”

And if anything else comes from the two of them, the roar of the storm drowns it out.

* * *

 

“So you’re telling me that those kids can time travel?” Undyne repeats skeptically. “Now isn’t the time for jokes, Sans."

If he had eyes, he’d be rolling then. “no. they can’t time travel,” he repeats for what feels like the tenth time. “we have our timeline.” He motions around them. “there have been past timelines that’ve been RESET by manipulatin’ space time and distorting it in ways it shouldn’t be capable of. distorting it until it’s so twisted that time’ll stop entirely, then launch itself back by throwing away this timeline and creating a new one in its place, effectively replacin’ the old one. that’s a RESET. LOADs are jumpin’ back through time—then a new timeline’ll branch out and continue as it will. that old timeline keeps existing. the SAVEs are distortions in space time that allow it all to happen—’cept, no one but the kid can see ‘em.”

“SO THIS MEANS … BECAUSE FRISK CAN USE A RESET, WE WILL NOT REMEMBER THEM … BECAUSE THE VERSION OF US THAT KNEW THEM DOES NOT EXIST ANYMORE?” Papyrus questions.

Sans rubs his skull tiredly, but reluctantly agrees, “suppose that’s one way to see it …”

“Sure, that’s those LOADs and RESETs and stuff,” Undyne says. “I GET that … kinda. But actually manipulating time, how does someone even DO that?”

“it’s—” Sans groans softly, already feeling a headache forming. “the general theory of relativity tells us that four dimensions exist. three space, one time, all capable of bein’ tampered and manipulated. that’s the space time continuum. we’re constantly messin’ with the dimensions by simply existing, ‘cause time manipulation is dependent on how space. the more space is manipulated, the slower time’ll go and distort, and vice versa. ”

“Can you just speak in English?” Undyne mutters, “Not everyone is a giant geek like you.”

He smacks his skull back against the wall. “you know what, forget ‘bout the damn theory and background shit. just think of a LOAD as a smaller version of a RESET, which is taking the timeline we’re livin’ in and replacing it.”

“So … time travel,” she repeats, and Sans wishes he had hair just so he could yank on it in frustration. Perhaps a LOAD could, reluctantly, be dumbed-down into time travel, but a RESET is something entirely different. There are too many nuances and details that go into the whole situation, but evidently trying to explain it to either of them is pointless.

“fine,” he concedes, “LOADs are time travel. happy?” Undyne looks somewhat smug, which only makes him more frustrated. “and SAVEs are the anomalies that allows that … time travel to happen, and a RESET is just replacin’ our timeline with a new one.”

Papyrus nods. “SEE, SANS—THINGS ARE SO MUCH SIMPLER IF YOU JUST DON’T USE YOUR SCIENCEY EXPLANATIONS TO EXPLAIN EVERYTHING!”

He groans again. “papyrus … “

“Alright, so time travel,” Undyne cuts him off, “those kids can time travel, so they’ve obviously met me in … another timeline, and I scared them to that extent? Hell, how many times have they done this RESET stuff?”

“ … twice,” Sans says slowly. “when they first fell down, they RESET. Then in the last timeline, they RESET again. this is their third timeline.”

Papyrus cocks his head to the side, asking, “WHAT MADE THEM RESET, THOUGH? IF WE WERE SUCH GREAT FRIENDS—DID I REALLY SNUB THEIR ATTEMPTS AT FRIENDSHIP!?”

This was the part he’d been dreading the most. “they … never made it outta the forest, papyrus. their first RESET was there.”

“WHAT ABOUT THE SECOND ONE? DID I … OH NO … I DID IT AGAIN, DIDN’T I?”

Sans hates this. He wants nothing more than to teleport into his room and leave the discussion where it is, because thinking back to the dusty child who’d glared with such ferocity, taken the dust of his brother and thrown it into the wind, before all the shine and  _ life  _ was stamped out of their body; it makes his magic stir in anger. Bitter, cold, resentful  _ anger _ .

It reminds him of the child he’d killed, over, and over, and over, until eventually it was just them both going through the motions until one of them gave up—until he’d snatched their soul, and realized what a grave mistake he had made in that first timeline, and seen just how callous he’d been in this one. The damage he’d been causing, just like everyone else.

“no, papyrus.” Sans’ tone is heavy. “you offered them friendship, and they killed you in return.”

There’s a tense silence. Sans is tempted to relocate himself in front of the children’s door, despite knowing there would be no chance of Undyne smashing it open, but before he can Papyrus breathes out a heavy sigh. “WELL,” he starts, “I DO SUPPOSE THAT EXPLAINS A LOT.”

“Those two punks  _ killed  _ him?” Undyne repeats slowly, her own anger simmering and burning just beneath her skin. It’s hard to contain her magic from spilling into the air, just from the sheer anger and  _ disbelief  _ that what Sans’ said being true. “So I was right. Humans really  _ are  _ dangerous.”

Papyrus shakes his head. “UNDYNE,” he scolds, “THEY MUST HAVE HAD A REASON. … I DO NOT KNOW WHAT LEAD THEM TO DO SUCH A THING—BUT THAT DOES NOT CHANGE THE FACT THAT, IN THIS TIMELINE, THEY HAVE NOT HURT ANYONE, AND EVEN SEEM SHOW AN IMMENSE AMOUNT OF GUILT.”

Undyne hisses out a breath, closing her eyes to gather her composure back up. “Out of everyone,” she finally says, voice low, “why Papyrus? He wanted to be their friend, yet they killed him for it. Why?”

And here it was.

“it’s not just pap.” Sans grimaces shoving his hands into his pockets. “they took out everyone from snowdin forest to the core. if not for me—” he scoffs, scuffing his slipper against the floor, “they’d’ve killed the king, too.”

“So YOU’RE the reason they RESET?” Undyne clarifies, and when Sans nods she clicks her tongue. “Tch … I was bested by a kid. A  _ murderer.  _ Humans really are something.”

Sans pauses, musing on whether or not he should tell her. It isn’t anything concrete or telling, but he’s almost positive that it’s a case of causation, rather than correlation. In the end, he decides he might as well. Without confirmation, there’s nothing he can say for sure; it’s not an invasion of either of those children’s privacy, after all. Just something of note.

“i didn’t really watch over ‘em as much as i should’ve,” he admits, looking anywhere but at Papyrus and Undyne, “but i do know approximately when they reached the crossroad leadin’ to hotland—and i know that they LOADed seventeen times before another SAVE was created.” He sighs once more, looking up at the ceiling with an almost weary expression somehow sketched across his face. “seems you killed them sixteen times—only a fraction’ve how many times i killed ‘em. yet,” he prefaces, “besides the unease and distrust that you’d expect, they don’t fear me. they fear you; they call ya' the devil, panic at your name—you saw just how afraid those two were, seein’ your face, didn’tcha?”

Undyne nods, slowly, but says nothing. “i ain’t presuming anything, ‘cause i don’t know what happened during those sixteen deaths. but it was enough to instill that sorta fear into them. and honestly? the kid i met on that first timeline … by the time they arrived at the judgement hall in the last one, they might’ve well been a completely different kid. they’ve come a way’s since i brought them here, but there was nothing in there when they arrived in that hall.”

Her anger remains, but at its side is something sickening; something that feels like a mixture of disgust and remorse. The words that had, just prior to this conversation, stirred up such a deep and guttural reaction in her SOUL and left her ready and frantic, panicked for battle come to mind; the frantic mutterings of eyes, eyes,  _ don’t take them  _ swirl alongside side it all.

Undyne comes to a terrible conclusion. She has always prided herself as being fair, despite all else; even a human deserves a fair chance to fight for their life, and children—above all else, children are to be protected. Human children; she hates humans, but murdering any sort of child leaves a sick taste in her mouth, no matter how necessary it may be.

“Heh … I did some terrible shit to those kids, didn’t I?” It’s a rhetorical question, and neither of the skeletons answer. “Damn. … I can’t even imagine it. Doing such a thing, to make them that afraid,” she admits. “Even though they’re human.”

“I … DO NOT UNDERSTAND, EITHER,” Papyrus says. “EVEN IF THEY DID KILL …” the word causes him to hesitate for a moment, but he continues on, “EVEN IF THEY DID KILL EVERYONE IN THE UNDERGROUND, YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN CRUEL, UNDYNE. AND THEY SEEM SO SAD SOMETIMES. SCARED, SAD … SOMETIMES, HOPELESS.”

“regardless. the reason doesn’t matter, at this point.” Sans stops the two before they go on any further. “i’ve explained the RESETs to you both. at this point, there’s nothin’ any’ve us can do ‘cept hope no more occur.

Undyne seems to realize something, suddenly, because she asks, “Wait. Why do YOU remember these things?”

Sans’ sockets hollow out for a second before the pinpricks return. “dunno,” he lies. “guess i’m just pretty special, ain’t i?”

“SANS!” Papyrus scolds. “NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO STROKE YOUR EGO!”

“relax, pap. regardless’ve how special i may be, you’re far more special than me.” His grin widens. “after all—you’re the great papyrus.”

Papyrus seems conflicted for a moment, before he huffs. “I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TRYING TO DO, BROTHER,” he accuses, “AND WHILE I AM, IN FACT, VERY GREAT, THERE IS NO NEED TO USE IT TO DERAIL OUR CONVERSATION!”

“aight, aight … fine.” He sighs, “i don’t really have much else to tell you, though. the rest ain’t my story to tell. i don’t think chara really intended to let slip what they did, either. there’s nothin’ we can do, at this point, except wait for the storm to roll over.”

“UNDYNE.” Said person turns to look at Papyrus. “YOU WILL NOT HARM FRISK OR CHARA WHILE HERE—NO MATTER WHAT. YOU WILL NOT HARM THEM … YOU WILL NOT SCARE THEM, OR THREATEN THEM, BECAUSE … I CAN SEE THAT THEY REGRET IT. CHILDREN ARE—” he sighs, before admitting, “CHILDREN DO NOT ALWAYS THINK OVER THEIR DECISIONS, AND DO NOT ALWAYS REALIZE THE CONSEQUENCES OF THEIR ACTIONS UNTIL AFTER IT HAS HAPPENED. AND FRISK IS ONLY TEN, STILL IN STRIPES FOR MANY MORE YEARS, AND WHILE I DO NOT KNOW HOW OLD CHARA IS, THEY ARE ALSO STILL IN STRIPES. THEY ARE CHILDREN,” he reminds her, “SO. NO MATTER WHAT, WE MUST TREAT THEM AS SUCH, ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY HAVE NOT DONE ANYTHING WRONG THIS TIME.”

“Tch …” she scoffs, gripping her arms tightly. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s kinda hard to be mean to a kid who freezes when they see you, anyways, even knowing they’re a murderer.” Undyne looks over at Sans. “How do you think those kids plan to co-exist with me around, though? Are we all going to bond over the table and tell fairy tales? Giggle and tell about the history of monsterkind and knit hats? Teach them to COOK like a real professional? Those kids’ lose it if I so much as look at them the wrong way. … Or at all, really.”

Sans shrugs. “exposure therapy, i guess. nothin’ else we can really do, because lettin’ them hide out in the shed for three days ain’t a good idea. not after what happened today.”

“WE WILL JUST HAVE TO BE GENTLE WITH THEM.” Papyrus gets to his feet and nods his head. “JUST LIKE WHEN THEY FIRST ARRIVED, WE WILL BE GENTLE AND TALK THEM THROUGH IT ALL, AND SHOW THEM THAT THERE IS NOTHING TO BE SCARED OF.”

Sans isn’t entirely sure that will work, or that it’s really the best idea, but it’s the only one they have.

* * *

 

Chara dreams of flowers and a giant throne. They feel a soft hand pulling them along, chattering and laughing all the way about the beautiful and wonderful garden that their father has grown, with so much love and care.

They laugh as well. It’s so light, so beautiful and warm, so soft and comforting; like the softest blanket in the world has been wrapped around their shoulders. They run with it as a cape, screaming all the while as their brother chases after them with his own cape and sword, laughs bleeding into shrieks until they’re tumbling to the floor, a mess of flesh and fur and panting children who can’t withhold their giggles. It feels so good to laugh again; to not be the freak with red eyes and anger issues. A gigantic figure looms overhead, benevolent and amused at the predicament of the two children as a massive hand reaches out to pat their head.

The hand retracts, allowing them to wander and touch the crevices between each wall of stone and water under their feet—their head is muddled with anger, hatred and frustration and everything because it’s not  _ fair _  and when they’re angry, they lash out—but their brother had taken that anger, and they had fled.

Their shoulders are wet and the mushrooms glow, lighting the stones up and up and up and up and up until the whole room is glowing so bright that, when it falls away, the darkness settles in like a blanket across their shoulders.

Chara wakes up with tears in their eyes, a heavy pressure on their chest, and cheeks dry with dried up tears. Their head and hairline aches, and they feel a pair of arms wrapped around their side. The room is still dark and silent, with only Frisk’s and their own breaths to match the wind.

They reach out to touch the wooden frame of the wall, feeling each and every irregularity and dip in the structure. It feels real. They’re real again—the dream felt so real, so perfect. This is not perfect; this is anything but perfect, except—

Frisk stirs behind them and Chara retracts their hand, scooting over to allow them a bit more space. Although it’s still too dark to see much or tell the time, Chara murmurs a soft, “Morning, Frisk.” It echoes what they’d said while incorporeal, while still a ghost, except now they are not.

“ … Good morning, Chara,” they reply, sitting up fully. “You woke up.”

Chara blinks, and although they can’t see it Frisk’s lips quirk into the tiniest bit of a smile before dying back down. “See? I told you it would be alright. … Sleep is safe.”

“I …” Chara thinks back to the dream and how much of a punch to the gut it’d felt to wake up. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Frisk doesn’t dare to ask if Chara wants to turn on a light, not wanting to risk any more over stimulation than they have already caused, but their bladder is full and they’re unsure whether or not they can navigate over to the bathroom without tripping.

“I’ll be right back,” they say, getting up and reaching a hand out so that they don’t stub their toe on anything, “don’t worry. … I’ll be back.”

Chara says nothing, closing their eyes and drowning out the background noise to the best of their ability. By the time Frisk returns, Chara has gathered themselves together and beaten the remnants of their dream away. Frisk doesn’t ask if they dreamt, and Chara doesn’t say they did.

“You think they’re done, yet?” Chara asks suddenly, desperate to fill the silence. “They just talk, and talk, and talk, so damn much—it could be done faster, but they just keep going on about stupid shit that doesn’t have anything to do with the conversation.”

Frisk tilts their head curiously. Their parents had only argued, which Frisk had come to care little about, and no other adult had bothered to carry a conversation out in front of them unless strictly necessary. Their experiences in the Underground had been an exception, not the rule. It still didn’t feel right.

“I didn’t have any bad dreams,” Chara continues, even though it has nothing to do with their previous words. “I didn’t have nightmares, or anything bad like that.”

“ … That’s good.” Frisk reaches out to grasp Chara’s hands, still getting used to feeling the skin of another human after so long. “Did you have good dreams, then?”

They’re silent for a few seconds before they mutter, “Maybe. I dunno.”

Frisk doesn’t press, and Chara doesn’t elaborate. “I guess,” Chara starts again, fumbling slightly as they try and get up without letting go of Frisk’s hands, “that since we fell asleep, they’re probably done with their talking. Too bad we don’t have a clock in here … I guess we’ll have to ask Papyrus for one, or something.”

The mere thought of doing so seems to make Frisk uncomfortable, but they don’t argue, instead directing their attention to the door. “Do you … want to go out?” They ask, looking back at Chara. “Or do you want to stay in here?”

Chara swallows hard, squeezing Frisk’s hands tighter—they feel Frisk squeeze back—and shake a tremble off their shoulders before announcing, “I’ll go and check.”

“ … Are you sure?”

They nod, pulling away from Frisk and inching their way to the wooden barrier. They have no idea what's on the other side; Undyne—or maybe, this time, the Devil herself—maybe, with her spears raised and ready for battle; Papyrus, with a deep disappointment shining in his eyes as he watches the Devil skewer them, because as much as it hurts this  _ was  _ all their fault, and—

Frisk comes up behind them, reaching down with their free hand to take Chara’s once more, before unlocking the door and pulling it open, preparing themselves for the worst.

The protest is caught in their throat; if Frisk goes first, then they could be hurt, killed,  _ maimed,  _ because there was no clue what could be out there, waiting for them—waiting to hurt them and drag them down into the dirt and down to Hell, except Frisk continues on despite how Chara can feel them shaking. Compared to the darkness of their room, the bright living room is almost torture, and they’re momentarily blinded, with only Frisk to lead the way.

“welcome back to the land of the living,” Sans greets. Papyrus and Undyne are nowhere to be seen, which helps alleviate their anxiety just the slightest, but neither of the two can afford to let their guard down. “have a good nap in there?”

Frisk swallows hard and, since Chara is still overtaken by the stimuli of lights, answers, “Yes.”

“hmm. good.” He moves from the couch to the kitchen, waving a hand for them to follow, and Frisk looks over at Chara in concern. Their eyes are screwed shut, and Frisk can see the light switch just by their door, but they’re frozen. If they turned it off, without permission, they could get in trouble. They didn’t get  _ permission,  _ which makes it no different than disobeying. But with the lights on, Chara can’t see, can’t move, can’t do anything because—

Their shoulders shake. Sans is out of sight, in the kitchen, and Chara is blinking blearily, still squinting and struggling, and although it feels like their heart is going to beat out of their chest they force themselves forward to switch off the lights.  _ For Chara. This is for Chara.  _ The mantra doesn’t help with their fear the slightest, and although it allows Chara to reluctantly open their eyes back up, Frisk is coiled up so tight that it feels like they’re going to snap.  

“Frisk?” Chara mumbles, reaching out with their free hand to touch their shoulder, and they’re painfully aware of how Frisk flinches. “Sorry. Uh—are you okay?”

Their pupils are huge, blown and terrified at the thought of what sort of punishment this is going to bring down on their head. With not only the Devil—Undyne, but also turning off the lights, waking up and disrupting the silence and—

They miss their walls, especially so when they have to fight back a wave of tears.

“you comin’, or just gonna stand there all day?” Sans calls suddenly, startling the both of them; though Frisk’s is far more apparent. “don’t’cha want some chow?”

Chara’s stomach growls for the first time in a century. Frisk is still frozen, but they force themselves to move. Left, right, left, right, left, right, left—

The kitchen isn’t light either, but it’s not as dark as their room had been. It’s still darker than the living room, which had lamps to fill the darkness—but in all, it isn’t enough to hurt Chara’s eyes too much. It's far better than the room they'd walked into, after all.

When Sans turns to look at them Frisk’s back goes so straight it’s as if a rod has been jammed into their spine. They await the inevitable yelling, screaming, the punishment they’ll receive for not asking permission, except—

It glosses right over to Chara, before returning to the table. “sit down,” he says, “and i’ll get’cha both somethin’ to eat.”

Frisk is confused, but still scared, and although Chara can no longer directly feel their emotions anymore they’ve been around long enough to understand. They lead the two of them into the kitchen, giving Frisk the seat closest to the door and themselves the one directly beside them. “It’s okay,” they soothe, making sure to keep their voice quiet. “You’re not gonna get in trouble for something like turning off a light.”

Frisk says nothing. Sans is reheating something that they're fairly sure is some spaghetti dish, and there's a tense silence for a few moments before Chara asks, "Where'd Papyrus go?"

"hm?" Sans turns to look at them. "just upstairs. he's in his room."

"Oh."

"what'd you want to drink?"

Frisk shrugs. Chara answers, "Orange juice—for both of us."

Sans places a plate of penne with spaghetti sauce before each of them before filling up two glasses with orange juice and placing them down beside the plates. Usually, it would be Papyrus who did these sorts of things; Sans would not, and really could not, consider himself to be a domestic skeleton. But the situation called for it, so he had no choice.

" … Thank you," Frisk whispers, barely audible despite the otherwise silent room, but they make no attempt to even poke at the dish. Rather, their hands are gripped tightly under the table, trembling despite their attempts to stop it. Chara stabs a piece of pasta and grits their teeth until they can feel an ache.

Sans shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he meanders back to the living room. "lemme know when you're done, i'll get it cleaned up."

Once he's out of the room, the tenseness that had been steadily growing on Frisk's shoulders seems to ease up enough for them to pry one hand from the other and shakily grasp at the fork. This didn't feel right; was punishment going to come  _ later?  _ It was a tactic their parents used, sometimes, when they would mess up or otherwise do something that just annoyed their parents—to ignore the situation at first, only to then unleash it upon them at a later, unexpected date.

There’s also the unease and muted terror that comes with the knowledge that Undyne is only a level above them; the kind that settles in the back of their throat and keeps them in a constant state of disease, hackles up and shoulders tense in preparation for what may come, and it’s a struggle to bring even a small forkful of the ill-cooked food to their mouth.

Chara watches them for a long moment before it becomes too much to bear. “You really aren’t gonna get in trouble, y'know.” Frisk glances at them from the corner of their eye. “Didn’t you notice how the lights in here are dim, too? The trash bag probably just didn’t expect for us to come out when we did, is all. Even he’s not cruel enough to punish you for something like that.”

“I …” They swallow thickly, squeezing their eyes shut for a moment to gather their composure. They have long since given up on finding their walls, but the issue now is rebuilding them. They feel vulnerable and exposed, but with so much going on at once, so many emotions that had been locked up for so long pouring out at once, it feels like they’ll never succeed. “I don’t know.”

Chara huffs, slouching back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling. “Listen,” they start, “if he tries to do anything, I’ll dust him. I don’t care if it makes Papyrus, or—or U-Undyne come after us. I’ll dust him, and we’ll lock ourselves in the shed, and escape.” They sit back up, turning fully in their seat so they can meet Frisk’s eyes, and state, “I promise—I swear. I won’t let anyone hurt you, so—just trust me. Okay?”

Frisk swallows again, before slowly nodding. “Alright …” They look back down at their plate, then back at the orange juice, and decide to go for the drink instead. “I’m sorry, Chara.”

“It’s not like you’ve got anything to apologize for,” they say in response, reluctantly eating some more of the pasta, “I’m a protector. I’m  _ your  _ protector, especially now that I’ve got my own body.”

Frisk holds their breath in their chest until it aches before exhaling. “… Thank you.”

Chara ends up eating more of the pasta than the juice—to feel food in their own belly, rather than Frisk’s, is odd, but not unpleasant. “You done?” They ask, looking over at Frisk, who’d done the opposite; focused on the juice, rather than pasta. Wordlessly, Frisk nods, and Chara frowns. “Are you sure you don’t wanna eat some more? It’s been awhile since you ate anything—”

“I’m fine,” Frisk mumbles, and the frown lingers for a moment longer before Chara gets up and peaks around the wall separating the kitchen from the living room. “Hey, trash bag,” they call, “we’re finished. So you can clean up now.”

“ok.”

“Should we do the dishes?” Frisk asks, following after Chara. “It’s polite … and we’re still guests.”

Chara looks at them oddly. “We haven’t done them so far, right? Why would we start now?”

Frisk has no response to that.

Sans comes in right as Chara is preparing to yell at him, and his pinpricks glance over the two plates before he goes about collecting and washing them. “well, you kids're free to go do whatever you want; not much  _ to  _ do, though. storm’s blown out all’ve the channels.”

Chara glares at his back. “Why does Undyne have to stay here?” They ask accusingly. “She came just fine here, so why can’t she just make the trip back, if it was so easy?”

“the storm’s only gotten worse since then,” he replies. “ain’t gonna bother us skeletons, but you fleshy folks gotta watch out. aquatics, too,” he adds on, before Chara can argue the point. “just take it easy. nothin’s gonna happen to you, papyrus and i won’t allow it.”

Chara makes sure to take his spot on the couch when they slump down on the worn thing, while Frisk reluctantly takes up their usual spot, blanket in all. “Do you want it, Chara?” They ask, holding it out in offering, and Chara shakes their head.

“I’m not really cold. It’s more hot than anything,” they admit. “Everything’s … too much. I don’t know. I’m not used to—this.”

Frisk can’t say they understand the feeling, but they do understand the feeling of being utterly displaced and torn apart, down to a molecular level. It’s not quite the same, but it’s something. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like it’s  _ your  _ fault, so stop apologizing already.” Chara sighs, drawing their feet up onto the couch and letting their chin rest against their knees. “It’s gonna be alright, Frisk,” they promise. “It’ll all be okay; I swear. I  _ swear _ .”

Frisk trembles, their own position mimicking Chara’s, and find themselves unable to form a response. They’re just so  _ tired _ . It’s like weights are attached to their limbs, their heart, their ears and fingers and eyes and  _ everything,  _ dragging them down and down until they want nothing more than to curl up on the floor and not wake up. Chara is alive, but in their wake—it feels like they have died.

“y’know, that’s my seat you’re sittin’ in,” Sans says, his brow raised. Chara glares at him, and he sighs before shrugging. “fine, fine. whatever, doesn’t bother me, really.” He observes the two for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets once more. “want those lamps off?” he asks, motioning towards them with his head. “you’re free to turn ‘em off if you need.”

“ … I guess.” They hate the fact that he’s picked up on their light sensitivity, but lean over the couch edge and twist the one closest to them off anyways. They leave the one near Frisk on, so that the room isn’t completely dark. “What do you guys even do during these storms?” They ask, lowering their feet so they can cross their arms over their chest. “If your TV gets blown out, and you can’t go outside.”

Sans shrugs. “some’ve this, some’a that, odds ‘n ends of whatever’s around. the usual.”

Chara’s glare darkens in irritation. “Can’t you just answer a damn question normally for once?” They snap. “Why do you have to be such an asshole about it?”

He snorts. “relax. i’m just messin’ around; there’s board games, newspapers … pap likes to knit sometimes.”

Frisk watches their conversation silently, with their blanket drawn up around their shoulders and cloaking their small figure. The exhaustion is so deep it hurts, draining and sapping away their energy. They don’t quite understand why—Chara is alive, has a body, has a  _ SOUL,  _ and yet they feel worse than ever.

Could losing a part of their SOUL do so much damage?

“or, i guess i could bring the both’ve you to the royal lab,” he suggests suddenly, as if the idea had just come to mind, “get that whole—SOUL splittin’ of yours looked at.”

Chara squints at him. “Didn’t you  _ just  _ say that it’s too snowy and cold out for us ‘fleshy folks’?”

“i know a shortcut.”

Chara contemplates it for a second; getting out of the house, where Undyne resides, would be safer than staying—if anything, maybe the whole procedure would waste so much time that, by the time they returned, Undyne would be gone. They doubt it, but there's still a tiny chance.

Plus, they still haven’t figured out what the whole Royal Scientist deal was; the scientist, when they’d died, had still been young and  _ male _ . Not a female, and definitely not related to MK of all people.

They turn to Frisk to ask what they think on the matter, only for the words to die in their throat when they realize just how weary Frisk looks. “ … There’s really nothing known about SOUL splitting, is there?” Chara asks, but the words don’t feel like their own. “So I guess maybe it is best if he—she …  _whoever_  it is does look at it.”

There is the worry of what will happen if it  _ is  _ who they remember; will he be shocked? Surprised? Alert Asgore, or keep it a secret?

“none,” Sans confirms. “in all’ve mosterkind’s history, nothing like this has ever been documented or recorded.”

Chara tightens their jaw. “Frisk?” They ask. “What do you think?”

The response, when it finally comes, is worn down yet so  _ empty _  at the same time. “I … don’t care. If it’ll help Chara, then I don’t mind.”

Sans is quiet for a moment, taking in the sight before him, before he sighs deeply. “guess now’s the best time,” he decides. “ain’t got work to worry about, after all. just lemme go tell pap and undyne—while you two …” he eyes the pajamas Frisk is wearing, “well, go and get dressed. i’m a busy guy, y’know.”

Chara hisses out a breath but gets up anyways, reaching for Frisk’s hand and pulling them up with ease; they give no resistance, as if their strings have been cut, and Chara feels their throat tighten in concern.

“I’ll have to borrow some of your clothes,” they say, once the door is closed and locked behind them, “I’m taller, but who cares—it’s just some shirts and jackets.”

“What about your legs?”

They look down at the leggings covering their skin and shrug again. “The lab is in Hotland, remember? I don’t think jeans or anything is gonna be the best idea.”

Once Frisk’s pajamas are swapped out with actual clothes—though not too heavy, with the humid and hot climate they’re due to be arriving in soon—and shoes put on, they meet Sans at the front door. “ready?”

Frisk nods, tightening their grip on Chara’s hand, and they grumble out a, “Yeah, whatever.”

“ok. if you remember last time, i’ve gotta have a solid hold on the both’ve you to make this work,” he reminds them, “so as much as you hate it, just suck it up for a bit.”

Chara scowls, but they both allow Sans to pull them close enough that his hold is tight, and the only warning they get is a, “aight,” before they’ve disappeared from the house.

They land outside the lab, and immediately the two children feel sweat begin to form from the temperature. Thankfully, there are no guards posted, and Sans presses a finger against a spot in the wall that makes what sounds almost like a doorbell echo through the entire area. Chara can’t imagine how loud it must be inside.

“Wait.” They squint at the spot, seeing nothing abnormal or out of place in comparison to the tiles around it. “Has that always been there?”

Sans’ just grins.

“O-Oh, oh—oh God, visitors; I-I wasn’t expecting anyone,” comes a muffled sound from behind the door. “O-One second! … Oh no, no … oh God, it’s a mess, it’s a mess …”

Frisk leans their head on Chara’s shoulder while Chara studies the lab. It looks the same as it did when they died, at least from the outside. But that voice—that was not the voice of the Royal Scientist when they’d died, and they’re unsure how, in just over 100 years, he could have lost his position.

“Hey, trash bag.” Sans inclines his head in acknowledgement, and Chara crosses their arms across their chest as they ask, “Who the hell’s that? That’s not—what happened to the Royal Scientist? Why was he  _ replaced?” _

His eye sockets hollow out, a sight which, usually, wouldn’t so much as faze them. But with how still he goes, how his expression seems to empty itself as much as physically possible, the sight leaves them uneasy.  “who’re you talkin’ about, kid.” It’s no question, and immediately Chara is on edge. They’d expected something—normal, at least, as a response, not  _ this. _

Still, they continue on as if the sight and tone doesn’t bother them in the least. “Uh, Ga—” the name escapes right off their tongue, and their eyes widen in confusion. “Wait, why can’t I—”

“S-S-Sorry!” The voice screams out nervously, and it’s the only warning they get before the door slides open. “Sorry for the wai … t.” Her voice dies off mid sentence, as if the words have been halted completely. “Oh. Oh God. Um … o-oh, um—S-Sans?” She all but squeaks, “W-Where’d you get uh—uh … t-two humans from?”

He shrugs, nonchalantly waving around a hand as he answers, “a friend.”

“A—A friend,” she repeats incredulously. “Uh. Um. Ok, ok. Y-Yeah. Uh—l-lets … go inside,” she suggests, skittering out of the way. Chara takes in the state of the lab and squints at the sight. It’s the same, yet it’s not; new additions have been added, such as the massive monitor—which is turned off, at the moment—, an over-sized bag of dog food … the upper deck has … something, that they can’t place, that definitely wasn’t there before. Neither of them had bothered exploring the lab during their last run; they'd simply moved onto Hotlands when they found it abandoned. “What can—uh, w-what can I help you with?”

Completely unfazed by the nervous yellow lizard in front of them, Sans says, “need you to check ‘em out.  _ tibia _ nest with’cha, we’ve … got a situation. a big one.”

“O-Oh. Ok, uh—I can … do that? I think? It’s probably not m-much different than a monster check-up—”

“check their SOULS, alphys,” he specifies.

Alphys. The name is completely unfamiliar to Chara; it brings forth absolutely no recognition, no memory or knowledge as to who this monster is.

This isn’t right.

“I … can do that.” She states. “Um. Uh. Ok. T-T-This way, please?” Chara spares a look at Frisk who, besides observing the lab around them, hasn’t changed much since they left. The weariness is more restrained, now that they’re out of the house and around a stranger, an  _unknown_ , but it’s still visible in their eyes. “J-Just, uh, s-s-sorry for the mess. I wasn’t—e-expecting visitors, today …”

“nah, alphys.” Sans waves it away. “you really think imma be judgin’ you when we’re droppin’ by unannounced, without even a  _ bone _ call to alert ya’?”

Alphys, to their surprise, doesn’t seem to even care about the puns. They pass a door that’s uncomfortably familiar to Chara—they can’t place why. It’s as if the memory is just out reach, sitting  _ just  _ far enough that their fingers can graze across it before losing traction. They force themselves to look away. There's a tugging feeling in their chest, but the further they move away from it, the weaker the feeling becomes, until it's all but gone.

“Right. Uh, this is t-the examination room …” it looks the same. Something is  _ wrong.  _ “W-W-What do you need me to look at, a-again?”

“SOULS,” he repeats. “i, uh. lemme warn ya’ now,” he says, “it’s … bad. so try not’t react too poorly.”

Alphys’s brow furrows, but regardless she ushers the two of them on the examination table while reaching for a tablet of some sorts. “R-Right, so I’m going to—uh, I-I’ve got to take your SOULS out to check, s-so don’t be too alarmed.”

To say she reacts poorly is an understatement.

“Oh my GOD—” her hands are trembling so badly that she nearly drops the tablet, and Sans presses a hand to his forehead to calm himself as well. It really is a gruesome sight, especially now that Frisk’s SOUL has been, quite literally, ripped in half. “W-W-W-What h-happened here!? T-Two halves of a SOUL, b-but the same SOUL, but—” her eyes widen at the readings on the tablet. “D-Different HP. I-I’ve never seen—”

“anything like it,” Sans finishes for her, his voice wiped of emotion. “yeah. that’s why i brought ‘em in. dunno exactly how to deal with this.”

Alpyhs steps back, placing her tablet down for a second so she can steady her hands. “How did—this happen?”

Sans looks over at Frisk, whose gaze has been firmly locked on their lap the entire time, and while Chara aches to answer for them, truth be told; they don’t  _ know.  _ They don’t fully understand, either, why Frisk’s SOUL had been cracking and splintering before it’d split entirely, other than the fact that it had to do with them. They don’t understand the difference in HP, either.

“I … don’t really know,” Frisk says slowly, their tone just as emotionless as Sans’. “Chara was … attached to my SOUL, and sometimes, if we got to far apart, it would hurt. … A lot.”

“And then it just ripped,” they finish hollowly. “Chara wanted to protect me, and it ripped.”

Alphys finally picks the tablet up again, tapping at it and raising it to examine Frisk’s SOUL. “T-This is unheard of,” she says. “For a SOUL to r-r-rip and not dust—k-kill the person …”

“T-T-The state of your SOUL must have b-been extremely damaged prior to the split,” she theorizes, “yes … that’s the only way. For HP t-to be so low, and the damage … a-a tattered SOUL …?”

“if it helps,” Sans starts, “their SOUL was in bad shape before it ripped. showin’ signs of splittin’ and such. i meant to bring ‘em to you earlier, but …” he sighs. “well. no time like the present.”

“Yes, but t-two different HP readings—” her eyes focus in on Frisk, who does everything in their power to not flinch. They have to respect adults; they don’t have their walls anymore, but they at least know the process. They know  _ how _ , even if the influx of emotions is new. “Do e-either of you know what HP stands for?”

They both shake their head, and Alphys looks back at Sans who shrugs before looking back at the children. “It stands for H-HOPE.”

“Hope …?” Chara mutters. “What does that mean? And not the  _ word,”  _ they say, before Sans can say something snarky in return, “but hope.”

“I-It means … oh God. Uh. Well,” she stammers, struggling for a way to describe the term, “HOPE is an a-acronym that st-stands for … H-Happiness, Optimism, and PerseverancE. It’s a m-measure of how willing a person is to … continue on, as well as their overall state of being.”

Chara looks at Sans, whose eye sockets have blacked out again, and then back at Frisk. “So, what, if your HP is low, then you don’t feel like living anymore?”

“No, not necess-sarily,” Alphys replies. “It could mean you’ve g-given up on change, l-life, or that you’ve r-reached a point where negative emotions have overtaken positive, o-or that you’re living in a state of apathy …”

They keep their gaze on Sans, whose posture and position hasn’t changed, and think back to how he’d only had 1 HP during their battle with him. They wonder if it’s the same, now; they haven’t killed anyone, his brother is alive—is it higher, or is it still 1?

It explains the drops they’d experienced, before the split; how, during their first run of the Underground, before they’d RESET in the forest, Frisk’s total HP had been dropping; how their base HP had already been so low, how after Undyne—after going through Hell, it had plummeted so far.

“So … if someone’s not happy, or optimistic, but they’re persevering and stuff—does that mean their HP will drop?” Chara questions. “Do you need all three, or just one or two?”

Alphys blinks. “Uh—um. W-Well, it depends. If one trait overtake the others, t-then it may be enough to keep it from dropping. B-But, it’s … important to have a balance of all t-three.”

“Why does HP go up with your LV?” They continue, and despite the brightness of the room, it almost seems like their red eyes are glowing.

“How would you know  _ that?”  _ She responds, slightly shocked. “B-But, well, LV, or—Level of Violence, and HP are tied together. I-Inevitably, regardless of how—h-how much LV you have, your HP will rise, b-but there’s nothing stopping it from dropping if you lose HOPE.”

Chara grimaces. “I don’t get it.”

“Regardless,” Alphys says, steering the conversation back on track, “your HP reading is 11, which is nearly half of a h-healthy child’s HP. But their’s …” she turns the tablet towards Frisk’s, “i-it’s only 5. Far too low for a-anyone, much less a child … did splitting the SOUL cause the HP to split too?” She mutters, her mouth pulling into a frown, “… N-No, no … the numbers don’t match up … no, that can’t be it.” Raising her voice back to a normal level, Alphys notes, “There’s nothing t-that can be done to raise HP e-except raising it yours-self. Still, to be so low in the f-first place … and to have two people to one SOUL—”

“aight, so basically. their SOUL is in pretty damn bad condition, huh?” Sans cuts off her rambling, and although the white pinpricks are back he’s still tense. “either of ‘em show any signs of goin’ up?”

Alphys taps away and once again directs the device towards Chara’s SOUL; they’re starting to feel uncomfortable, having it out for so long and having to stare at the mess it’s become—but looking at Frisk’s is even worse. “T-This half seems stable,” she states. “This half …” she turns to Frisk’s and grimaces. “Not so m-much.”

“hm.” Sans sighs, but pushes himself away from the wall as Alphys allows the two SOULS to retract. “k, thanks doc. let’s keep this between the two of us, yeah?”

“Y-Y-Yeah,” Alphys stammers back, her shoulders hunching a shred as she places the tablet back away. “Uh—but, Sans … the green stripes—”

“I’m right here,” Chara interrupts, crossing their arms over their chest, “you don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here.”

Alphys winces. “S-S-Sorry. Anyways, your … half of the S-SOUL, it’s not like—… w-well, it’s almost seamlessly integrated itself t-to you. I-I’ve never seen anything like it; it’s a—a miracle, if anything—think of all the potent-tial of this! If SOULS can be implanted i-into others, then—”

“it’s probably ‘cause they’re human.” Sans quickly leads the two children out of the room, though Chara rips their arm away from him before he can touch them. “don’t think too much about it.”

“O-Oh … y-yeah, sorry,” she mutters. “I’ll—w-walk you out.”

It’s as they reach the door that Chara finally snaps, unable to hold back their question any longer. “What happened to the previous Royal Scientist?” They ask bluntly. “Where is he? When did  _ you  _ get here?”

Alphys’ eyes widen. “The … previous one? Um … uh. An a-accident occurred, I think … I-I don’t really know.”

“time’s of the essence,” Sans says, and this time when he grips their shoulder they don’t pull away, “thanks for your time, alphys; sorry ‘bout the impromptu visit. and remember; between us. yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah … ok.”

When they’re back outside the lab, Chara whirls on Sans, vitriol words already on their tongue, only for him to fix them with a dark look. “stop askin’ questions about him,” he orders. “that man is gone. you’ll only cause problems for the both’ve you if you keep that up.”

Frisk looks between the two of them, their arms wrapped around their waist, and Chara is the first one to back down with a scoff. “Whatever.”

**”I’m serious.”** They look back up at his tone. “don’t get into this stuff, kid. you’ll only end up regrettin’ it.”

“… Fine. Whatever,” they repeat. “Let’s just go back already, it’s hot.”

Sans is the one who scoffs this time, but within seconds they’re out of sight. A figure lingers in the shadows, blending in seamlessly yet not; almost a trick of the eyes, as if one would look away and he’d be gone.

**«How very interesting …»**

The sound is distorted and warped, like it’s gone through filter after filter after filter until it’s reached something incomprehensible to the human ear.

**«The lost Dreemur child has returned, haven’t they …?»**

The darkness twists and swirls; round and round until it’s inverted in on itself, palms flat against the darkness and head twisted underneath—before it snaps back into place, as if nothing had changed, rigid as a statue yet as fluid as water.

**«Chara Dreemur … what does fate have in store for you, I wonder?»**

With that, the being vanished, leaving behind a vague feeling of disturbance; as if the atoms and molecules had been misplaced or warped—but it doesn’t take long for them to return back, leaving the shadows just as uninhabited and forgotten about as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> lmk what you think


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